


Into the Night

by peachycans



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ancient Greece, Cannibalism, Dark Ages, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Immortality, M/M, Medieval Period, Rape/Non-con Elements, Renaissance, Suicide Attempt, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2018-11-21 05:51:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 17
Words: 73,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11351205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachycans/pseuds/peachycans
Summary: Jack of all trades, master of… all. Eddie Gluskin, a man cursed with the power of immortality, has lived through centuries of violence, blood, and lust due to one accident where he’d been given his power against his will. He’s seen things that no man should ever have to see, and done things no man should ever have to do; all because of one man he’d fallen in love with long, long ago.





	1. Commission

_Waylon,_

_I’ve told you for thousands of years, and thousands of times that I’m sorry. No matter how much I say it or how much I mean it, it will never fix what I did to the both of us. I messed up, and bad. Maybe if I hadn’t been so selfish and taken the beauty of life for granted, this never would have happened._

_This experience has allowed me to learn almost every language known to man, play every instrument there is, and work every job one can work. But I’ve always liked tailoring best; of course, you already knew that. I guess I’m rambling. I’ll keep it brief, then._

_I love you, Waylon. Don’t forget that I’ve always loved you._

* * *

“Where is it? You _know_ that I’m bad with directions, and I just moved here. I don’t know where anything is.”

Lisa chuckled, shaking her head as she stared down at the screen of her phone, GPS pulled up, “Just take the next right. The picture on the website showed it in a kind of strip-mall.”

Waylon took the turn, and sure enough, a large strip-mall came into view to the left of the road. “Remind me again why you took me to order your wedding gown?”

“Oh calm down, you need to get to know your way around this place anyway,” Lisa chuckled, gently nudging her friend’s shoulder. “It was only ten minutes. Remember when we used to take six-hour long trips with the others back in community college?”

“I don’t even remember half of their names anymore,” Waylon sighed, pulling into one of the only parking spaces available. There was both a movie theater and a Big Lots in the strip as well, explaining the abundance of cars.

“Me neither, but I definitely remember the crazy amount of marijuana they brought with us.” 

Waylon groaned, resting his forehead on the wheel as soon as they were parked. _“Never_ again.”

Lisa shook her head, grin plastered across her face as she opened the passenger door of the car. “Come on Way, lets go find the perfect dress.”

“How come your fiancé didn’t come, too? You’re only getting married to each other,” Waylon grumbled, following Lisa down the sidewalk of the strip.

“Support!” said Lisa, “Besides, he’s on an overnight for the next three days.”

Suddenly, Lisa stopped them in front of a shop at the very end of the strip. The place looked fancy and expensive just from the outside. The shop was two stories high and painted over with an eerie midnight-like color, intricate carvings decorating the walls. A serif sign above them read ‘Tailoring and Bridal’, and the windows were darkened from the outside.

Before Waylon had the chance to comment on the somewhat-medieval exterior of the shop, Lisa was already headed inside. Waylon followed quickly, a small bell above the door chiming a small chime before closing behind them.

The interior was definitely different than the exterior; the walls were an off-white color, the floors covered over with polished mahogany. Small pots with realistic-looking roses and other flowers covered shelves and cases across the room, giving the whole place a look of elegance.

Waylon could practically smell the expensive as Lisa clapped her hands together, trotting over to the first display of bridesmaid dresses she could find. Along with the wedding gown of her dreams, she also wanted to put in an order for bridesmaid gowns, too. 

Waylon was just thankful he wasn’t paying for any of it.

It was then that Waylon’s eyes trailed to a small counter across the room where a man sat, book in-hand. He didn’t seem as formal as the rest of the place was, wearing only a simple gray t-shirt and black jeans.

The man’s eyes slowly found the two customers across the room, closing his book before coming to a stand, “Can I help you two with something?” the man asked, moving away from the desk and over to the racks they were eying.

Waylon looked over his shoulder to Lisa, who was still sucked into the depth of ocean blue dresses on a dais across the room. The blonde sighed, turning back to the man, “Yeah, actually. Are you the owner?”

The man shook his head, “Nah, I just work here, but the owner’s here. He’s working upstairs. Anything I can help you with?”

The blonde looked to a small nametag resting against the man’s t-shirt; ‘Dennis’. Ah. He probably should’ve noticed that earlier. “Well, she was looking to put in an order for three bridesmaid dresses and a wedding gown.” he said, gesturing to Lisa. “Hey, Lisa!”

Lisa swiveled around, a large grin plastered across her face as she approached, “Hi! Are you-?”

“I’m not the owner,” Dennis answered again, voice sounding like he was already tired of saying it. “But if it’s a commission you’re looking for, I can go get him. Are you the bride and the groom?”

“Waylon? Nah, he’s just a friend,” Lisa laughed, throwing an arm around Waylon’s shoulder. 

As soon as the words left Lisa’s lips, Dennis’ smile fell. He stared hollowly between the two; but most of his attention remained on Waylon.

The blonde shrugged his shoulders up to his ears, not entirely comfortable with the man’s scrutinizing gaze. He opened his mouth to continue, but Dennis beat him to it, “I’ll just go get the owner for you.” he replied quickly, scurrying away towards a small curtain-covered door near the back of the shop.

Once he was gone, both Lisa and Waylon gave each other the same look. A look that said something was up.

“What was that about?” Lisa frowned, letting her arm fall from Waylon’s shoulders. “Did you see the look he gave you?”

Waylon huffed, “No Lisa, I’m blind,” he said sarcastically, running a hand through his hair. “I’d be lying if I said that didn’t freak me out a little.”

Lisa rolled her eyes, “Well, that guy was just weird.”

“He was fine until you said I wasn’t the groom.”

“Well, why would that make him give you that look?” Lisa pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. She shook her head. “That’s not the point of any of this, anyway. Come check out the bridesmaid dresses I found!”

Waylon and Lisa were both admiring the shimmering display of gowns in the back of the store when a loud thud echoed from the floor above their heads. Both Lisa and Waylon looked up, startled, as heavy footsteps walked the upper floors.

Dennis reappeared shortly after, brushing the curtain back before giving the two a small smile, “He’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Despite the previous warning, another set of footsteps descended the staircase Dennis had moments ago. A much larger figure made its presence in the shop, and based upon Waylon’s first look, the newcomer seemed much more fitted to the place than Dennis did.

He was dressed rather spiffily in what one could describe as wedding attire. Along with that, the man had a sculpted face and black hair shaved and slicked back upon the top of his head. His eyes were piercing as they fell on the two of them.

As he approached, Lisa was quick to jump in, “Hi! I really like these dresses back here; could I put in an order for three of these? I have the sizing all ready to go.”

The man’s eyes were locked on Waylon for less than a second before they flickered down to Lisa; _down;_ the guy was huge, “Of course. My attendant mentioned you wanted a bridal gown as well?”

Minutes later, Waylon was standing behind Lisa at the counter, hands in his pockets while watching her fill out the paperwork for her bridesmaid dresses. He looked up to the man who’d been sitting behind the counter, more than a little startled to find him staring him down. As soon as their eyes locked, Dennis stood, moving to the back of the store.

That’s when Waylon decided to see what the owner was doing instead. He almost flinched when he saw the owner staring at him too, but the man tried to hide it well enough. He almost managed to look away in time to avoid Waylon’s eyes.

Waylon frowned, leaning over the counter beside Lisa all the while continuing to gaze at the man, “I don’t think I caught your name,” said Waylon, raising a brow as the owner’s eyes turned back to him.

“…Eddie Gluskin,” the owner replied, taking a step back from the counter as Lisa finally looked up, gathering the paperwork in her hands.

She looked to Gluskin, then Waylon, then Gluskin again before smirking, handing the tailor the papers. “Thank you, Mr. Gluskin. When can we talk about the dress…?”

Gluskin looked back to Lisa, uncrossing his arms to take the papers out of her hands, “Are you looking for a specific dress, Miss Lisa?”

Waylon was already getting bored of all of the wedding talk, choosing instead to walk away from the desk and observe the displays they’d missed while ogling over bridesmaid gowns. There weren’t just dresses in the shop; it seemed half of the room was dedicated to brides and women, the other men and grooms.

This guy really did it all, didn’t he? Waylon couldn’t help but to snake his way into the men’s section as quiet voices talked business behind him. The further back the shelves were, the more formal the clothing got.

There was one particular display of tuxedos that caught Waylon’s interest; there was a dark aqua-like material over one particular pair that he found he liked almost instantly. There was a pin with a white rose and beads sitting on the upper chest of the suit, and the closer Waylon looked, he began to notice a small pattern inside of the color.

It looked like such an expensive piece of clothing that Waylon didn’t even want to know the price. The fact that there wasn’t evidence of a tag was enough to tell him there was no way he’d be able to afford it. He didn’t understand why he liked it so much…

“Like it?” A voice suddenly echoed beside him. Waylon jumped back as he spotted Dennis standing beside him, staring at the same suit he had been.

“Uh… Yeah,” Waylon gasped, clutching a hand to his chest. “I doubt I’d be able to afford it, though.”

Dennis simply shrugged, running a finger along the fabric before turning back to Waylon, “It comes with a veil too, you know.”

Waylon immediately raised both brows, “Why would it come with a veil…?” he asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.

Again, Dennis shrugged. “I’ll answer that question like I answer a lot of questions around this shop; why not? Eddie Gluskin is certainly… Eccentric, when it comes to certain aspects of his work. You can always buy it without it, but I think that takes the fun away from it.”

Waylon followed Dennis’ eyes back to the front counter where Lisa and Gluskin were looking through some sort of thick book. From the distance they were at, Waylon couldn’t really tell what was in it. At least the tailor was occupied, and not staring.

“Sorry if I freaked you out a bit earlier,” Dennis continued, gaining Waylon’s attention. The attendant looked to the floor, scratching the back of his neck. “Staring and everything. You just… have nice hair.”

Waylon let out an awkward laugh at that, shrugging, “It’s fine,” he replied, glancing back over to Eddie Gluskin. “What’s up with him, anyway?”

Dennis’ smile immediately fell, “He’s just… Stressed out. Has been for a while. …I probably shouldn’t say this but,” he said, leaning closer. “I think he keeps looking because you look a _lot_ like someone he used to know.”

“Oh,” said Waylon, staring down at his feet. Suddenly he felt much more uncomfortable than before. But then he looked back up, realizing just what Dennis meant. _“Oh._ I’m sorry.”

Before either could continue their conversation, Lisa’s voice echoed across the room, “Hey, Way! We’re all set! Let’s go, unless you want a dress too…?”

Waylon blushed furiously, shaking his head as he followed Lisa to the exit. The blonde spared one last glance over his shoulder at Eddie Gluskin as they left, only a little surprised to find the man was still staring at him with that same intense gaze as before. At least he knew the reason why, now.

Not like it mattered all that much. It was the only time he’d be seeing the tailor, as long as Lisa didn’t drag him along to pick everything up once it was finished.

“Okay, now that we’re out of there I can finally say it,” Lisa laughed as she entered the passenger side of the car, “That guy was totally into you.”

“What? No, he wasn’t,” Waylon immediately denied, shoving the keys into the engine. “If anything, he looked like he wanted to slice me up and hang me from the ceiling of some old gymnasium. He was _scary.”_

Lisa shook her head, “No, you weren’t standing right in front of him. He was super intimidating, sure, but I can tell the difference between hate and lust. And that was definitely lust.”

“You’re just saying that because you want to hook me up with my first guy,” Waylon sighed, “Besides, despite rugged handsomeness, he looked as straight as an arrow to me.”

“So you _admit_ he was handsome!”

Waylon blushed, “Shut is, Lis.”

“Can he be like, my brother-in-law?”

“We just met him five minutes ago!”

“I can see the wedding now.”

 _“Lisa,”_ Waylon wheezed, “The attendant told me I just looked like someone he used to know. That’s. It.”

Lisa slumped back in her seat, defeated. “Okay, fine. But I’m just saying, you could’ve had a man with a dark past.”

Waylon paused. “…What the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t see the scars all over that guy’s face.”

“…No. I didn’t.”

Lisa rocked back and forth in her seat, “I don’t mean it in a bad way or anything. I mean, it was kind of hard _not_ to notice. Although it could’ve just been from an accident or something…”

Waylon rolled his eyes, “You are the most prying human being I know, Lis.”

“I try not to be,” Lisa sighed. “Sometimes I can’t help it. I feel like you should’ve tried talking to him more.”

“Again,” Waylon said, holding up a hand. “We met him _five minutes ago.”_

“Whatever.”

* * *

Dennis slumped back into his chair behind the counter, folding his hands behind his head and kicking his feet up onto the desk. He watched Eddie with curiosity, a large smirk plastered across his face.

Eddie stood completely still on the opposite side of the counter, staring at the front windows. He’d been staring ever since their two clients left; the only thing that had changed was his expression, which had quickly gone from firm to saddening.

“So,” Dennis began causally, flicking a paper away from his feet with two fingers. “Was that Waylon?”

Eddie swiveled on his heels instantly, glaring at the younger man. “What did you tell him?”

Dennis flinched, but the smirk still remained. “Hey man, I’d never rat you out. I just had to make up a bullshit excuse for him to explain why you wouldn’t stop looking at him.”

“And?”

“I just told him he looked like someone you used to know,” Dennis shrugged. “And he totally bought it.”

Eddie hissed, turning away from the attendant and back towards the front window. He could see Dennis shift in his seat out of the corner of his eye, approaching, “There’s no way I would be able to understand what you’ve been through,” Dennis sighed, “But this isn’t the first time. You can do it, man.”

Eddie closed his eyes, fists clenching and unclenching by his sides. “He’s not young; it’d be safe to assume I don’t have a lot of time to work with here.”

The two men fell into silence shortly after, but Dennis clearly wasn’t willing to let the subject slide, “Look Eddie, there’s really nothing you can do about it now. It was just a lucky roll of the dice.”

Eddie’s brows furrowed. _‘A lucky roll of the fucking dice, indeed.’_

“He liked the suit in the back,” said Dennis.

Eddie frowned, glancing to the display across the room. “Which one?”

Dennis pointed to the aqua suit resting in between the other four, “The one in the middle that you made the veil for.”

Eddie couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle, “He _would.”_

“You know, when you first told me about him, I didn’t believe you.”

Eddie grunted. “No one ever does.”

 _“He_ always does, doesn’t he?” said Dennis, smirking.

Eddie sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between two of his fingers. It was something he really didn’t want to think about.

Dennis shook his head, “Look, it’s almost seven. You can close the shop early, get some sleep. Come to Frank’s bar with us tomorrow. What do you say?”

After some silence, Eddie nodded. He could really use a drink, despite the fact that getting drunk probably wouldn’t happen. Maybe if he drank enough this time…

“Things will be fine Ed,” Dennis continued. “You’ll see him again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to write this same story a long time ago, long before my other two Outlast long-fics, but at the time it didn't really work out (Mostly due to the fact that I got lazy and hadn't planned out what was going to happen like I have now). But now, I'm determined to see it through.
> 
> This alternate universe is... complicated. For everyone that wishes to continue reading, I only ask you be patient with me here since this fic is going to both raise and answer questions with every chapter; the lore behind all of this is quite extensive. For those of you who are confused-- Good! That means I wrote this chapter right.
> 
> The tags will be updated as the story progresses. I'm not sure if this fic will have every Thursday or every Friday updates, but that's just another question that'll be solved in time lol.
> 
> For updates/notifications/art on Into the Night, visit [here](http://peachycans.tumblr.com/tagged/into-the-night/).


	2. Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie and Waylon already need a break.

Eddie sat on his withered throne, fingers tapping rhythmically against the arm. He glanced around the basement, eyes tired. He’d found himself growing more weary than usual, nowadays.

He stood, feeling his spine pop as he stretched. It wasn’t the best idea to sit around and sulk all day; he did have prior commitments to attend to. No use sifting through all the rubble surrounding him if it wasn’t going to be of any use. At least, not _yet._

He climbed back upstairs and into the main living room of his house. He locked the basement door behind him, running a hand through jet-black hair as he pondered his options. He could either sulk some more and get nothing done, or start ordering the materials for Miss Lisa’s dress.

It didn’t take a genius to know that the dress definitely seemed like the better choice. It would keep him from canceling on Dennis and the others later in the evening, too.

So, he started to work. In between several phone calls, Eddie couldn’t help but wonder when he’d be seeing Waylon again. He hoped it would be soon; he couldn’t stand to think of another year passing without him, and suddenly he’ll be… He’d just be…

Eddie shook his head as the ringing on the other end of the line ceased, a cheery female voice greeting him. He had to restrain himself from cringing as he replied, and soon enough, he was back into action.

Thankfully, Lisa’s wedding wasn’t for a while. That gave him lots of time to finish his more critical commissions before beginning her dresses; they would be beautiful, he was sure.

Like then man that’d accompanied her. Just the thought of him set Eddie’s heart aflame.

Suddenly, the thought of joining Dennis and the others at the bar sounded like a terrific idea. He could really use the distraction. They wouldn’t be going until later in the day, but Eddie knew that with a little hard work, he could make time fly. 

With his music player cranked up the loudest volume and what seemed like millions of papers and fabrics in front of him, Eddie worked throughout the day, creating sketches and beginning the bases of several different orders he’d received, starting from the closest due-date.

His efficiency had increased dramatically throughout all the years he’d had to practice his _current_ trade; in what another person would see as such a short amount of time, Eddie was almost done with the base of a wedding dress that had been put in a month beforehand. He was a procrastinator, for sure. _That_ had never changed.

A small chime across the room gained Eddie’s attention, breaking him from his fabric-filled trance. He put the order details down onto his workbench, glancing to the grand clock nearby. Seven o’clock.

Eddie stood from his chair, tossing his papers into a filing cabinet nearby before stretching his tired limbs. On a normal Friday, they guys wouldn’t be at the bar until at least eight o’clock. But Eddie was perfectly willing to be stuck with the bartender for an hour if it meant he could go home wasted and blissful.

He located his keys, and immediately started for the bar.

* * *

Waylon flopped down onto his couch, a loud groan rumbling deep in his throat as he thought the previous day over. He couldn’t help it; it’d been so long since anyone had looked at him like that, and he wasn’t sure if he’d been misinterpreting the signals or not.

And, like a genius, he’d gone to his best friend about it.

“Come on Way, you’re getting all worked up over nothing.” Miles commented from the counter across the room, fingers sliding over the screen of his phone.

Waylon turned over, groaning even louder as he shoved his face into the pillows behind him.

Miles noticed, of course. He rolled his eyes, shutting his phone off before approaching the blonde, “Seriously?” he asked, plopping down beside him.

When Waylon didn’t answer, Miles sighed. “If you tell me where his shop is, I can check him out for you. I have a _very_ good gaydar.”

“No Miles,” Waylon sighed, tilting his head towards his best friend. “I just wanna forget about it. It’s nothing.”

Miles chuckled, “Hey man, I want you to fall in love and get hitched like a magical little princess as much as Lisa does at this point,” he laughed, earning a pillow to the face. Once the laughter ceased, Miles pursed his lips. “So, do you want to go out? We can get drinks and stalk the guy tomorrow.”

Waylon couldn’t help but smirk. Miles always knew how to get to him one way or another. It was one of the big reasons why they’d become such good friends in the first place.

The best part was that he hadn’t even _liked_ Miles before they’d officially met. Waylon had immediately picked him out as one of the obnoxious, lazy, pot-smoking types that he was less than interested in getting involved with. He appeared to be the kind of person who’d snuck out of his parent’s house at midnight to go to some jock’s party back in high school.

But Miles had only resembled that in appearance back then. College kids had always given Waylon that sort of vibe; funny, since he’d been a college kid himself. Trust no one, after all. Even so, he’d tried to be as open as he could be while remaining the wallflower he was.

Miles had approached him first, and in all honestly, Waylon could barely remember their conversation. Maybe it had been something aliens, or conspiracy theories on the White House. Things never really made any sense when it came to Miles.

But Waylon had warmed up to him instantly, and once he’d been invited over to his dorm to play Fallout and drink shots of Code Red Mountain Dew, he’d known they were destined to be friends. 

Waylon had always blamed Miles’ long hair and side-shave for a bad first-impression back then. He’d thought Miles would be the one to pressure him into trying his first cigarette. In reality, Miles _hated_ smoking. He even had a whole conspiracy theory about how they were connected to the illuminati rising, too.

Not like any of that mattered now, two and a half years later. It took Waylon a couple second to realize Miles was poking his side, waiting for an answer.

“Fine, we can go,” said Waylon, glancing at the clock. Eight-thirty.

“Does that mean you agree to the stalking, too?” Miles asked hopefully.

Waylon stood, smacking the closest pillow into Miles’ face. “Absolutely not.”

* * *

“Another one,” Eddie hissed, flicking his shot glass towards the opposite end of the counter.

“Jesus, Ed,” said the bartender, inspecting the downed glass. “This is your fifth already. You wanna take it easy, maybe?”

Eddie glared, “I’m not in the mood for your health bullshit Frank,” The older man growled, picking up the beer bottle beside him. “Do I have to act like Thor? I asked for another.”

Dennis was quick to snatch the bottle out of Eddie’s hand, nodding sympathetically towards Frank. The bartender simply shrugged, reaching behind the counter to pour another glass for his grumpy patron.

“Seriously Eddie, stop,” Dennis scolded, placing his drink as far away from the other man as he could. “You’re acting like a big baby. Just calm down and release the tension. We came here to have a good time.”

The man sitting on Eddie’s other side leaned over, raising a brow, “What’s got him so worked up?” he asked, looking to Dennis.

“The man who’s name we shall not speak of at this period in time because I don’t want to die showed up at the shop yesterday,” Dennis sighed, placing a hand on his forehead. “He’s all worked up about it, Chris.”

Chris’s eyes widened, “You mean W.A.Y.L.O.N.? _That_ guy?” he whispered, leaning closer.

Eddie slammed his fists down onto the counter just as Frank placed his next shot in front of him, “Wow, it’s almost as if two idiots are talking about Waylon on either side of me and they think I’m suddenly deaf.” Eddie snorted, downing the glass he’d been given.

Both men fell silent as Eddie threw his empty glass onto the counter, “I honestly couldn’t care less. I’m going to at least _try_ when I see him again. I just need to know how old he is,” Eddie sighed, waving Frank back over. “Can you just give me the strongest thing you’ve got?”

“This is our first time seeing you go through this, Eddie,” said Dennis, placing a hand on the larger man’s shoulder. “It might be one of the _only_ times. We’re not like you. But if there’s anything we can do to help, let us know.”

Chris was next to give Eddie a small, sad smile. “I hate seeing you this way, Ed.”

“We all do,” Frank piped in next, placing a tall glass of a substance Eddie didn’t care to identify in front of him.

“Remember that time you told us about when you went crazy, and did less-than-sane things?” said Chris, folding his hands together over the counter. 

_Rowland, please-!’_

_‘This is for your own good, Waylon.’_

_‘Please, I don’t understand! Tell me why you’re doing this!’_

_‘You’ll never understand, you little slut.’_

Eddie nodded. Chris continued. “Things aren’t like that now. This isn’t the same time where people watched others hang for fun. This isn’t when you had to deal with crazy Englishmen trying to stuff you into an asylum. Things have changed, and so have you.”

“You all say the strangest things sometimes,” Frank chuckled, moving away from the three once he caught another patron waving him over.

Eddie glared at the back of Frank’s head. Chris sighed. “Don’t mind him; he doesn’t know.”

“Yeah, and that’s probably for the best,” Dennis mumbled through another swig of his beer.

The front door of the building chimed quietly behind them to signal there were new customers, but Eddie chose to tune it out even as both Chris and Dennis looked over their shoulders to see if they knew who it was. _‘Needy bastards.’_

“Oh-ho, shit,” Dennis cackled as he turned back to the counter, but not before giving Eddie a cheek-splitting grin.

Two men approached the counter, sliding into stools just a few feet away from the trio. Eddie glanced them over, double-taking as soon as he put the pieces together in his mind and saw the picture of a small blonde replaying like a tape stuck on loop.

As soon as he looked back at the newcomers, Eddie found that he’d been right. Sitting at the counter was Waylon and another man he didn’t recognize. He was probably a friend by the way he gave Waylon a hard, supportive pat on the back as Frank walked over to them. Not… lovers, right? Then he’d have even _less_ time.

Eddie immediately looked away, hiding his face. He didn’t want to have to deal with this _now;_ not while he was drunk, at least.

There were a few mumbles between Chris and Dennis over his head, but Eddie just ignored them as he grabbed his mug, chugging over half the glass in an attempt to lose himself enough that he’d be able to leave without a single interaction with Waylon. It was for the best.

_‘I can’t do this.’_

_‘I can’t do this.’_

_‘I CAN’T DO THIS.’_

Eddie didn’t realize he was breathing as hard as he was until Chris grabbed him by the shoudlers, spinning him around, “Eddie, calm down!” the man pleaded, shaking him back and forth until his sanity finally decided to kick back in.

“I’m…” Eddie mumbled, dazed. “…I’m fine.”

Chris gave him a look of uncertainty, but released him nonetheless. “…Good.”

Eddie glanced back over to the two men. His brows furrowed as he inspected Waylon’s delicate features while he talked to Frank, the other man with him joining in the conversation. Oh, how pure and innocent he could be…

Frank soon left them to their own, walking into the backroom. Eddie watched Waylon tapping his fingers against the counter patiently, looking around the building until he locked eyes with Eddie. He looked away almost immediately, covering his face with his hands just as Eddie himself turned away.

When Eddie looked back over to Dennis, he found the man giving him the biggest shit-eating grin he could manage, “Come on Ed,” he chuckled, pointing to Waylon and his friend. “Go talk to him. Like you said, you don’t know how much time you have.”

“So, that’s actually Waylon?” Chris asked curiously. Dennis nodded, and to Eddie’s surprise, he could feel a heat beginning to spread across his cheeks. It’d been going on for centuries, and yet he was still a blushing, bumbling mess when it came to Waylon?

_‘That’s pretty pathetic, honestly.’_

Instead of moving, Eddie chose to remain seated right where he was and _occasionally_ glance over to the duo nearby while sipping his mug. Chris announced that he was leaving soon after, rapping his knuckles against the counter twice before standing from his stool.

Eddie wasn’t sure how much time had passed until Dennis groaned beside him, “Come ooooon. You should know that I myself am not leaving until I see you two converse,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

It took only the look in Dennis’ eyes for Eddie to know he wasn’t kidding. Frank stood watch nearby, and as soon as Eddie called for him, he was there.

“Give me four shots, Frank.” He demanded, running a hand down his face.

Frank sniffed, head tilting in question. Eddie huffed, “I’m gonna need them to do something really, really stupid.”

Dennis let out a soft, ‘Yes!’ beside him just as Frank poured the glasses, shoving them in front of Eddie. And boy, was he quick to down them.

As soon as the last cup was empty Eddie stood, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. He already felt as light as a feather, and his mood was only slightly improved as he approached the two men, catching just a bit of their conversation as he walked closer.

“All I’m saying is that she was totally in on it with the shooters. The notebook, the eyes with thirteen tears of blood, the weird-ass messages, it all makes sense…!” The man Eddie didn’t recognize babbled on, throwing his hands up for emphasis.

As soon as Eddie was standing behind Waylon, the man fell silent, eyes holding a truly mischievous glint as he poked Waylon’s shoulder.

And just like that, Eddie and Waylon were staring into each other’s eyes once more. Waylon visibly gulped, lips parting as if he wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the words.

Eddie found himself in no better condition.

“Uh… hi?” Waylon finally choked, cheeks flushed.

 _“Well,”_ The man beside Waylon breathed, stepping away from the counter. “I think I’m gonna call it a night, Way. Text me when you get home, ‘kay?”

“O-okay,” Waylon managed to respond, eyes never leaving Eddie even as the man departed.

Once he was gone, Eddie more or less plopped down into the seat beside Waylon, still unsure of what he should say, or _do._ He was at a complete loss. A wave of sadness flooded Eddie at the thought, dark memories returning to him the longer the silence stretched.

Thankfully, Waylon decided it was finally time to break the ice. “Well, uh… Nice to see you again…?”

Eddie nodded, leaning over the counter. He hiccupped, holding a fist to his mouth. He shouldn’t have come; not while he was like this. “Forgive me; I’ve already had quite a bit to drink. The last thing I wanted to do was to disturb you…”

Waylon let out a soft chuckle, “Well, I’m not doing so hot myself. I think a couple more could get the mood going, though.” he sighed, and as if on cue, Frank delivered another cold beverage into Waylon’s willing hands.

As soon as he opened the bottle, he turned back to Eddie. “So if you didn’t want to disturb me, why’d you come over?”

The words caught in Eddie’s throat. _‘Peer pressure.’_

“I just thought you looked…” Eddie gulped, glancing Waylon up and down. “…Lovely this evening.”

Well, it technically wasn’t a lie. Waylon looked as stunning as ever, but then again, he could make _anything_ look ravishing.

From his light pink sweater to his black skinny jeans and white sneakers, Eddie was already in love. Then again, he’d _been_ in love for a long, long time.

“O-oh,” Waylon stuttered, looking down at his clothes. “Uh-- t-thank you?”

And there he was again, blushing like a mad-man. Eddie could hardly contain himself; damn the alcohol, lowering his inhibitions. That was the _real_ curse he was dealing with… For the time being.

Soon enough, the bottles continued to pile up, and the two found themselves relaxed with one another in no time.

“I told her I was going to Berkley, and she said, ‘Go fuck the fags there, then.’ So I got a dorm, and theeeeen realized that I gotta find a place to live, so,” Waylon babbled, face pressed against the counter. “Here I aaaaam.”

Eddie choked on his drink, leaning over the side of the counter as he wheezed through fits of laughter. Waylon joined him, rubbing his nose into the counter until they both finally calmed themselves down enough to continue.

“So when’d you set up shop, huh, big guy?” Waylon asked, leaning up against the counter enough so that he could rest his chin in his palm.

“I’ve been moving since the beginning of fucking _time,”_ Eddie laughed, wiping his eyes. “I came here from… Oh god, what was it…? _Australia._ That’s where I was last.”

Waylon piqued a brow. “Oh yeah? Where’d you live before that?”

“Oho, well let’s see,” Eddie began, ticking his fingers off as he spoke. “France, Italy, Greece, Japan, Egypt, India, Great Brittan, Norway, Russia, Thailand, Germany…”

“Holy fucking shit,” said Waylon, a small burp escaping his lips as he spoke. “How is that…? How is that even…?!”

“Oh darling,” Eddie purred, cutting the Waylon off as he leaned closer, “I’m not even _done.”_

Waylon smirked, following Eddie’s lead, “You know, you’re really sexy when you talk like that,” He hiccupped, placing a hand against Eddie’s bicep.

Eddie grinned, hands immediately flying to Waylon’s hips. He held them tightly as he yanked the younger man’s stool close enough that they were chest-to-chest with one another. “Is that right?”

“Yeah,” Waylon groaned, eyelids fluttering. “Everything about you feels that way…”

Eddie chose to stay silent, feeling Waylon’s hand on his cheek. “I liked you staring, yesterday. You looked like you were undressing me with your eyes…”

Eddie’s smile darkened as he leaned in closer until his lips were pressed against the shell of Waylon’s ear. “How do you know I wasn’t?”

Waylon immediately shoved Eddie back, grabbing hold of the front of his button-up before yanking him forward, lips crashing together. 

It only took a few moments for Eddie to respond, hands clenching against Waylon’s waist as he pressed up against him. He yanked Waylon’s hair back seconds later, deepening their kiss. The feel of Waylon’s hands against his shoulders was like a heat he couldn’t get enough of; the need to get rid of the blockade between them was growing the more they kissed.

A loud cough caused them separate, lips making a disgusting wet sound as they parted. Both Eddie and Waylon looked to Frank, who stood awkwardly on the other side of the counter.

It was obvious he was trying to avoid eye-contact as he spoke. “Ed, if you’re going to do that, you mind talking it somewhere else?”

The duo stared at the bartender for what felt like forever, but was probably only a few seconds before they burst out laughing, falling against one another.

Waylon’s voice was all giggles and glee as he tugged on Eddie’s shirt, leaning up close enough that he’d be the only one able to hear him. “…Come home with me?”

Eddie was more than happy to oblige.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, what is slow burn.
> 
> Updates are every Friday.


	3. Awkward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically what the title implies.

_Ping._

_Ping._

_Ping._

_Ping._

Eddie groaned, grabbing and shoving the closest pillow onto his face.

_Ping._

_Ping._

He tossed the pillow off the side of the bed before trying to find the source of the obnoxious pinging. The haze of morning sun coupled with a massive headache from his hangover didn’t help as he felt along the floor until a piece of cloth met the pads of his fingers. He felt around the fabric until he realized the source of his misery had been lodged into a pocket attached to the article.

Eddie huffed, pulling the phone out of the pocket before hitting the home button. Immediately the screen lit up to a dull background, as well as several messages he didn’t recognize.

>You piece of shit

>I told you to do one thing. ONE THING, and that was the text me. Text me and TELL ME what you didn’t do

>Way seriously, u okay??

>If you’re not responding to me on purpose, it’s not funny

>WAYLON, PLEASE RESPOND YOU LITTLE EGG YOLK THIS IS SERIOUS

>You know I will HUNT YOU DOWN if I don’t get a response by noon. Talk to you later, unless I have to start looking

It only took Eddie a few seconds to put the pieces together, quickly glancing over his shoulder to find a small frame wrapped up in bedsheets beside him. He let out a small, content sigh before placing the phone onto the nightstand beside him, flopping down on his back.

Well. It was safe to say he’d found Waylon.

Eddie wasn’t really sure what he should do. It seemed inappropriate to get up and stalk Waylon’s kitchen for pancake mix to cook for the both of them, but the temptation was certainly there. He considered just waking Waylon, but that also seemed like a poor move; he was probably going to have just as shitty of a day as Eddie was if he was woken rudely.

In the end, Eddie chose to do neither. He rolled over, wrapping his arms around Waylon’s middle before placing his chin in the crook between his shoulder and neck. 

The blonde shifted, yawning before bringing a hand up to his forehead. Eddie didn’t want to overwhelm Waylon, but he didn’t want to let go of him, either. He placed a small kiss against the back of his neck, stirring him further.

Would he even remember what’d happened the night before?

“Mm… Mornin’,” Waylon mumbled, sliding into a sitting position before he jerked, eyes widening. He was quick to snatch one of the blankets off of the bed, standing up and tying it around his waist before meeting Eddie’s eyes.

_‘Well, he’s not panicking, so he at least remembers something,’_ Eddie thought. He couldn’t help the smirk that curled his lips at the sight of Waylon blushing, arms wrapped around himself while the blanket covered everything below the waist.

_‘Still as modest as ever,’_ Eddie almost said, barely biting back the words as he eyed Waylon up and down.

“Well… This feels a little awkward,” Waylon finally sighed, sitting himself back down onto the bed.

A small wave of amusement coursed through Eddie at the statement, “Why’s that, darling?” he asked, tossing the sheets away from his naked body before standing up, reaching for his clothes that had been scattered across the room.

Waylon looked away again, blush growing even further as Eddie first pulled on his boxer-briefs, then his slacks, “I mean, I was just at your shop about a commission for a wedding gown…” he continued.

Eddie buckled his belt next, shaking his head. “You weren’t the one getting married.”

“…I guess that’s true.”

To break the incoming tension, Waylon began picking up his clothes as well, tossing them into a small basket across the room. He walked over to a dresser next, pulling out what seemed like a random match of clothes as fast as he could. 

Eddie didn’t bother to pull his shirt on as he watched Waylon with interest. As soon as Waylon caught him staring, he started rambling, “Well I mean, you don’t uh, have to— _Leave,_ ah, yet. I mean I can make some breakfast, and um we can talk, about all this?” he said, stumbling over his words all the while yanking his clothes on.

Ten minutes, four painkillers, and a full plate of pancakes later, Eddie and Waylon sat in the latter’s kitchen, more or less decorating their food.

“Do you have peanut butter, by any chance?” Eddie asked thoughtfully, poking at his pancakes with his fork.

“Peanut butter…?” Waylon asked quizzically, but nonetheless reached into a cabinet nearby and pulled out a jar of the requested condiment.

Eddie was fully aware of the strange look he was getting as he sunk his knife into the jar, scooping out a fair amount of peanut butter before plopping it down onto his first pancake. He took his time smoothing it over the golden surface, counting the seconds until Waylon asked another question.

Waylon snorted as he watched, leaning his elbows against the table, “Uh, who puts peanut butter on their _pancakes?”_ he laughed, Eddie’s look of concentration causing even more giggles to escape.

“Don’t worry darling,” said Eddie, lathering more of the butter against his second pancake before grabbing a nearby bottle, “I put syrup on them, too.”

The blonde laughed some more, starting to cover his own pancakes with butter and syrup. “I have _never_ heard of someone putting peanut butter on their pancakes until now.”

“Well, now you have,” Eddie commented, narrowing his eyes at the younger man. “But, I don’t believe that’s what you wanted to talk about, hm?”

Waylon pursed his lips, casting his gaze down to the floor. The look itself told Eddie that he wanted to say something, but didn’t know where to start.

A sudden thought occurred to the older man just then. He grunted, gaining Waylon’s attention, “You have a friend,” said Eddie, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. “He wouldn’t stop pinging your phone, telling you to text him.”

It was almost hilarious the way Waylon’s face lit up in horror as he more or less ran back to his bedroom, leaving Eddie in silence for only a few moments. Eddie thought it inappropriate to start eating without Waylon, so he simply sat, looking over his shoulder as soft footsteps padded back to the counter.

“Sorry about that,” Waylon laughed awkwardly, tossing his phone beside his food before taking a seat across from Eddie. “My friend does uh, some pretty crazy things if he doesn’t get a response from me for a long time.”

Eddie hummed in acknowledgement, waiting until Waylon took the first bite of his own pancake before he started eating himself.

They remained quiet as they worked through breakfast, occasionally glancing up at one another, but otherwise saying nothing. 

Finally, once Waylon scooped up the last of his crumbs, he cleared his throat. “Uhm… So, about last night…”

Eddie raised a brow, but said nothing.

“I mean,” Waylon blushed, wringing his hands over his lap before glancing back up at Eddie. “I don’t normally… well… y’know. But I saw you, and the coincidence just caught me off guard, and I got a little carried away…”

“Coincidence?” Eddie asked, unable to hide the amusement from his voice.

“Oh god,” Waylon stuttered, blushing harder. “You’re not one of those people that always tells others, ‘There are no coincidences…!’ and stuff like that, are you?”

Eddie grunted, smirk still as evident as ever. It was hard to live through what he had without starting to believe that chance and coincidence were just a part of the big picture. But that was a conversation he was _not_ going to have with Waylon; not for a while, at least.

He chose to say nothing instead, watching Waylon while waiting for him to continue.

“Anyway,” Waylon coughed, clearly nervous from Eddie’s silence, “I saw you, and then later I saw you--” He swallowed. “I saw you at the bar.”

“Very accurate, darling,” Eddie murmured, once again nearly failing to hold his tongue to keep himself from adding ‘As usual’.

Eddie stared at Waylon for a few more seconds before coming to a stand, picking up his empty plate, “I know this all seems a bit sudden, but—Would you like to accompany me to dinner, this Friday?”

Waylon’s brows shot up. “D-Dinner?”

With the look on Waylon’s face, and all of his past experiences, Eddie knew he would say yes. He could see the excited glint in his eyes as soon as he started to stutter.

“Sure!” Waylon blurted, looking around frantically before spotting a notepad and pen holder on the counter behind him.

Eddie chuckled as he watched Waylon grab one of each, quickly scribbling a line of numbers before tearing the sticky note off and handing it to him. “H-here’s my phone number.”

As Eddie pocketed the paper, Waylon shot to take the plate out of his hands, dumping it into the sink, “I feel terrible after you’ve done so much this morning; I thought it best to make it up to you. You’re too kind, darling.” Eddie grinned, causing Waylon to shrink in on himself in embarrassment.

“Pssh,” said Waylon, smiling abashedly. “It was nothing, really. So… This Friday, then?”

Eddie reached forward, taking Waylon’s hand into his own. He raised it up to his lips, placing a gentle kiss upon the skin presented. “This Friday.”

* * *

As Eddie drove home, he stared flatly at the road ahead, face hard. He wanted to smack himself for kissing Waylon’s hand. He’d promised himself he’d never do such a thing again a thousand years beforehand; it always put him in an unfavorable mood when he did it.

Such as now. It brought back too many painful memories. But when there are so many thoughts and memories streaming through one’s mind, there was only so much he could remember.

It was no surprise to see Dennis sitting on his porch as he pulled into his driveway. The man seemed like he hadn’t been there for very long, hardly acknowledging him as he continued to stare at his phone with a blank expression.

“What’re you doing here, Dennis?” Eddie asked. He already knew why he was there, but that didn’t stop him from asking anyway.

Dennis looked up from his phone, turning the screen off, “You have a fun night last night?” the younger man asked mischievously, the ghost of a smile disappearing as soon as it came.

Eddie snarled in response, unlocking the front door. When he entered, Dennis followed. “You told us you’d tell the story of how it happened when you found him again. And by the looks of last night, I’d say you _definitely_ found him.”

“I just said that so you’d stop pestering me about it,” Eddie growled, shoving Dennis back. “Go home, Dennis. Forget it. I’m cursed; that’s all you need to know.”

“Yeah but how did it _start--”_

“You have three seconds to get of my goddamn house.”

“What can’t you just tell us? What’s the harm?”

“Because I don’t want to _remember.”_

“What about Waylon, then? He could--”

_“HE’S BEEN DEAD FOR THOUSANDS OF YEARS!”_ Eddie roared, slamming his hands down onto the kitchen counter. He collapsed into one of the barstools, head in his hands. “He’s _gone…”_

“Ed…” Dennis sighed, pocketing his phone before moving to the older man. “He’s not gone, Eddie. He’s still alive.”

Eddie chuckled humorlessly, head falling. “Not for long.”

Dennis frowned, shoving Eddie’s shoulder. “Come on, don’t talk like that. Have you ever seen the movie _‘Edge of Tomorrow’?”_

The older man frowned harder, glaring up at Dennis.

Dennis gulped, pressing on, “Well, this guy was given a power where he keeps dying over and over again. And eventually he meets this badass chick, and he starts to fall in love with her and becomes determined to save her no matter how many times he has to die to do it. He keeps trying, even though it all seems useless. And he keeps gaining on the edge of the next day, but he never does, because he wants to save both the human race and that woman.

“What I’m trying to say is, he’s kind of like you, Ed,” He said, placing a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “You can’t give up. Even if it was an option, you love him, don’t you?”

Eddie nodded, slow. He hated when anyone other than him was right. He _hated_ it.

Dennis huffed. “Then fight like Tom Cruise.”

* * *

“What’re you, my mom?” Waylon huffed, sinking further into the couch in his living room as Miles tore at the bowl of grapes he kept in his fridge.

“No, but you said you’d send me a message,” Miles gurgled between stuffing grapes in his mouth. “Plus, as much as you and that guy were pining after each other like a couple of horny teenagers, he kinda looked like he could be a serial killer in some freaky video game or something.”

Waylon narrowed his eyes, yanking the bowl away from his best friend. Miles whined, letting his head fall back onto the couch. “Well, at least you got some action, finally. After all the shit Lisa’s been putting you through with her wedding, you _definitely_ deserved it.”

“Heh, uh, about that…” said Waylon, scratching the back of his neck. “He uh, actually asked me out on a date for this Friday.”

Miles shot upright, a sly smirk curling his lips. “Can I do recon on your date?”

“No!” Waylon squeaked. “Besides, I don’t even know where it is, or what time. I gave him my number and he said he’d call this week.”

“Aww,” Miles protested, lifting himself up off of the couch. “I want to find out more about that guy; like his past. He’s gotta have a past, have you even _looked_ at him? He’s a walking museum of battle scars. No way all those markings are from the same thing.”

When Waylon didn’t respond, Miles turned back to him, smirking. “Of course, you would’ve seen _all of it,_ huh?”

“Shut your filthy mouth,” Waylon sighed, standing himself. He walked into the kitchen, tossing the mostly-empty grape bowl into the sink. “I can only remember so much of what happened. I had a less than favorable amount to drink…”

Miles sat himself down on the closest stool, folding his arms. “So you still _won’t_ let me do recon, then?”

Waylon narrowed his eyes, turning the sink on. “No.”

“Whatever,” said Miles, voice full of exasperation. “But you can’t stop me from looking him up. His name was Edward somethin’, right?”

“Eddie Gluskin,” Waylon mumbled, washing out the bowl.

Miles whipped out his phone, recording the name into his notes app before tossing it back into the pocket of his jacket, “Whelp, that’ll be for another day. I just want to make sure you’re not going out with an actual psychopath.”

“Oh Miles,” Waylon said in the most over-dramatic voice he could muster, turning off the kitchen sink before falling back against the counter. “He’s just a friend! You really need to stop being so jealous.”

The brunette raised a brow as Waylon circled the table, draping his arms over Miles’ shoulders, “Really, I don’t want to be punished again! It still hurts from last time,” Waylon continued in the same feminine voice as before, running a hand over his waist.

Miles rolled his eyes, swiveling around in his chair, “Oh it better, baby,” he said lowly, hands moving to Waylon’s hips.

“Okay this is already more than I can handle,” Waylon broke, bursting out into a small fit of laughter as he pried Miles’ hands away. “I’ll be fine Miles, don’t worry about it. He was sweet.”

“Whatever!” Miles huffed, throwing his hands up in a show of surrender. “I’m just sayin’. Even if he isn’t after your immortal soul, he has to have something on him. That dude is shredded; and I mean both muscle-wise, and the fact that he has so many scars that I wouldn’t be surprised if a lion _actually shredded him.”_

“Hm,” Waylon shrugged, leaning over the counter. “Something definitely felt off when I was around him, though.”

Miles tilted his head, blowing a lock of dark brown hair out of his face as he stared Waylon down. “Like what?”

The blonde paced the floor, thinking aloud, “I’m not sure. Something just felt… Weird. Like I should know him from somewhere or something.”

“Can you remember him from anywhere else beside the shop?” Miles asked.

Waylon let his arms flop back to his sides, a tired huff escaping his lips. “No. Nowhere. I feel like I should, though. Something just feels really wrong when I think about it. Like I should know him. I really feel like I should know him Miles, I just can’t think of _where.”_

The brunette shrugged. “I dunno what to tell you. Maybe it’s a childhood memory that’s trying to come back to you. He does look like he’s a bit older than you, after all.”

Waylon pursed his lips. Where could he have seen Eddie before, really? It wasn’t like he was the social type, he never had been. Any interactions with people outside of his own house were either in school, or when he was away for college. And even then, he’d had a very select group of friends that he remembered perfectly.

He must’ve seen him somewhere. The urge to know was so strong that he _had_ to have met him before, brief or not. Had he ever worked somewhere else? Maybe he’d run into him out in public?

That theory seemed futile, since one of them was bound to remember and bring it up at the bar, or earlier in the day.

It was maddening, really. He _needed_ to know where he’d seen Eddie before.

“I can practically see the smoke coming out of your ears,” Miles interjected, poking Waylon’s arm. “How hard are you thinking about this?”

“Hard enough,” Waylon groaned, taking a seat across from Miles. “This is killing me.”

“No use in fussing about it now,” Miles chuckled, ruffling a hand through Waylon’s hair before turning back to the counter. “Only time will tell.”


	4. Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of their first official date arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit sexual content ahead.

Waylon stood in front of his bedroom mirror, an awkward look on his face and a tired sigh escaping his lips. He couldn’t really tell if he was underdressed or overdressed, and the nervous sweat that had broken out against the back of his neck was of no help.

It was Friday night, and Eddie said he’d be picking him up at seven-thirty. Waylon looked at the clock; seven twenty-eight.

_“Where we’re going has a cocktail dress-code.”_ After searching his closet for fifteen minutes, Waylon had panicked, calling up Lisa and begging for her help him make sure he was dressed appropriately for the upcoming evening.

_“Do you even know what that type of dress code means?” Lisa asked, hands on her hips as she looked over the racks of dress shirts in front of her._

_Waylon cringed. “Sort of…”_

_“I hate that you won’t tell me who you’re going out with, but whoever it’s with, I feel like they have taste,” said Lisa, clicking her tongue as she picked out a light blue dress shirt, holding it up to Waylon’s chest. “This looks about your size. The color’s cute on you, too…”_

_“Lisa, please,” Waylon groaned, pushing the shirt away._

_“Alright, fine. But we’re keeping this. Cocktail attire means dressing formally, but not_ too _formally. You don’t want to be overdressed. Just try this on after we get some slacks, a tie and some shoes, make sure everything fits, and then we’re out of here. Okay?”_

_“…Okay.”_

Now he was wearing that same blue shirt, black pants, and dark gray tie Lisa had picked out for him. There were only two other times he could recall wearing something so formal; his high school graduation, and his college graduation. The clothes had been borrowed, since he’d felt no need for them in the future.

Up until now, at least. Lisa had even dropped by an hour beforehand just to make sure he looked right, even going so far as to take him into the bathroom and put product in his hair before giving him a wish of good luck.

Waylon nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the doorbell ring, glancing back at the clock. Seven thirty-two.

He stumbled out of his room towards the front door, more or less swinging it open once he regained his footing. 

“Eddie,” He breathed, looking up to the man towering in his doorway. Really, it was a funny sight. The man seemed like he could fit the entire frame if he just spread his shoulders a little wider.

“Hello darling,” Eddie greeted, giving Waylon a small smile before tilting his head back out the door. “Shall we?”

Waylon _really_ wished he could help the intense blush that blossomed over his cheeks at Eddie’s words, but he knew well enough by now that once it started, there was no stopping it. Eddie just always knew how to light a fire in his gut; whether it was the way he spoke or the way he looked at him, Waylon didn’t know.

But somehow he found himself in the passenger seat of Eddie’s car, hands fidgeting in his lap as the other man pulled away from the curb and out onto the main road. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on an actual date; he faintly remembered taking Lisa out to a semi-formal restaurant back when they’d been dating as seniors in high school, but that’d been long ago, and neither liked the other that way anymore.

“So are you going to tell me where we’re going yet?” Waylon decided to ask, eyebrow twitching as he dared a glance towards the other man.

Eddie shook his head, grinning. “It’s a surprise. The restaurant is a little ways outside of town. We’ll be there soon enough.”

The flare of both fear and excitement left Waylon aching for more. He wasn’t sure what to do with himself for the remainder of the car ride. Should he just stay silent, or try to make conversation? What even _was_ human interaction, anyway?

The small, screaming thought that he should know Eddie didn’t stop chewing at the corner of his mind, either. As tempting as it was to ask him about it, Waylon didn’t want to come off as weird or creepy for having such strong feelings over it.

It wasn’t until the car came to a complete halt and the engine turned off did Waylon realize they were at the surprise restaurant. Eddie had already clambered out of the car too, startling Waylon with how fast he was to open his car door for him.

“I feel like a Hollywood celebrity walking down the red carpet or something,” Waylon cackled, stepping out of the car before Eddie could even offer a hand. He couldn’t be sure Eddie wasn’t prepared to do it, after all. He was all formality, and well-mannered.

That was one of the first things Waylon had noticed about the other man. The way he moved, spoke, and acted were all something Waylon could see from one of those black-and-white romance movies his mother had used to watch in their old living room. Most of the time, the men in those films made Waylon uncomfortable and squeamish.

But Eddie didn’t make him feel squeamish. In fact, he had quite the opposite effect.

Once again lost in his own thoughts, Waylon hardly registered Eddie guiding him to the double doors of the front entrance until he spoke. “This is it, Waylon.”

Waylon blinked, eyes immediately trailing up to the double doors in front of him. The entire place screamed regality; the front of the building didn’t even have a name printed anywhere. All he could see was a small, serif-printed list of the restaurant’s active hours on the front window.

As soon as they walked in, all that surrounded them was people. Waylon automatically assumed they were waiting for a table to open up. Some of the customers glared Eddie and Waylon down as Eddie pushed them to the front; Waylon couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed after seeing most of them with much more expensive eveningwear than what he had on.

The hostess had a face of complete congeniality as they approached, “Reservation?” she asked with a fairly monotone voice, eyes flickering over Eddie first, then Waylon.

“Under ‘Gluskin’, yes,” Eddie replied, hand immediately moving to Waylon’s waist as a large party of people squeezed past the front desk and out the door.

The hostess glanced over to the tablet beside her, dragging her thumb down what appeared to be a list of names before nodding, grabbing two menus from under the desk. “Follow me, please.”

Waylon hadn’t even noticed the back deck seating until they were actually standing in it, the hostess guiding them to a small table off to the left side of the deck. As soon as they’d taken their seats, Waylon felt the need to address the restaurant overall.

“I feel really underdressed,” Waylon laughed nervously. “I’ve never eaten at a restaurant anywhere close to how fancy this place is.”

Eddie’s eyes lowered, his smile from before coming back as he looked Waylon up and down. “You look perfect, darling.”

And there he was, making Waylon blush like a bumbling teenager. He almost wanted to hate him for it until their waiter came over, and suddenly things seemed normal again.

He hadn’t even had the chance to get a good look at the lake beside them until their waiter was long gone. The entire atmosphere of the restaurant had a small hint of romance to it, and it soon became clear that the back deck seating was probably used for couples only. With a quick glance around at all of the two-seater tables, Waylon knew he was right.

“How did you end up in Leadville, Waylon?” Eddie asked curiously, drawing Waylon back to the present. He just couldn’t stop zoning out, could he?

Waylon dragged his gaze back to Eddie, gulping. “Well ah, after college I really didn’t have anywhere to live. My parents had kicked me out after high school, so I saved up as much as I could for the four years I was there, then pooled it all into my house.”

Eddie frowned. “If you don’t mind me asking, why did they leave you?”

“Uhm…” Waylon cast his eyes to the floor, letting out a long, tired sigh. “Well, I grew up in a pretty strict conservative Christian household. Coming out as… As a gay man, didn’t exactly put me on their good side.”

He didn’t look for Eddie’s reaction. Of course, he couldn’t react negatively, could he? They were _on a date with each other,_ after all.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Eddie, and when Waylon looked up, he was a little more than startled to find genuine sympathy etched over the man’s features.

Waylon nodded, shaking his head. “What about you?”

Eddie hummed, glancing back up to Waylon just as their waiter dropped off a basket of bread and butter onto their table.

“Hm,” Eddie grunted, clearly taken back by the question. Waylon furrowed his brows as he noticed a dark look flash across Eddie’s eyes before they turned back to their natural bright blue. “Well, I lived in Australia before moving here twelve years ago. I sewed and painted there for five years.”

Waylon’s eyes widened in awe, “Sounds like you get around,” he chuckled, snatching a piece of bread from the basket. “What country were you born in?”

The dark look was back again at full force, and Waylon almost wanted to drop the question entirely until Eddie finally whispered out an answer. “Greece.”

“Woah, that’s cool!” said Waylon almost child-like, and was rewarded with a small smile from Eddie.

As their waiter took their orders, Waylon thought over what Miles had told him the week before. . _“I want to find out more about that guy; like his past. He’s gotta have a past, have you even_ looked _at him? He’s a walking museum of battle scars.”_

As Eddie spoke with the waiter, Waylon scanned Eddie’s face and noticed that Miles was actually _right._ How come he’d never noticed it before?

There was a long scar across the right side of Eddie’s face through his eyebrow, and another one spanning across the bridge of his nose. On his left jaw were four more lines stretching up to his cheekbone, and a small indent through both his top and bottom lip.

Well, he couldn’t really blame Miles’ curiosity in that department. Even _he_ wanted to ask Eddie why he was all shredded up the way he was, but that seemed like less than appropriate conversation. That was something that the scar owner would reveal when they wanted to reveal it.

They talked for a little while longer after that, going back and forth between asking questions and telling little stories of little things that didn’t really matter anymore. By the time they got their food, Waylon didn’t even feel awkward sitting in the restaurant anymore.

“You know, I’ve been having this really weird feeling lately,” Waylon mumbled, swallowing the rest of the food in his mouth before continuing. “It’s strange. I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before, but I can’t figure out where.”

Eddie piqued a brow, stabbing his fork into his food hard enough to cause Waylon to flinch. But he didn’t say anything to either confirm or deny Waylon’s suspicions. He just… Stared.

Waylon squirmed, rushing to elaborate. “I know your assistant said that I looked like someone you knew. I don’t want anything to be awkward if that someone was…”

Eddie’s eyes narrowed, smile completely forgotten as his hands clenched the edge of the table. He casted his gaze to the lake, the lights, the windows; anywhere but Waylon.

That was when Waylon finally cracked. He fidgeted in his seat for less than a second before fishing out his wallet, standing while mumbling. “I’m sorry--”

Eddie stood in time with him, reaching across the table to place a gentle hand on Waylon’s wrist, “No,” he grunted, adam’s apple bobbing. “No. Please, stay. I just let my thoughts get… a little out of hand.”

Waylon plopped back down into his seat, eyes wide and alert. “If I’m making you uncomfortable…”

“No, darling, you aren’t,” said Eddie quickly, retreating back into his own seat as well. “You don’t remind me of someone I used to know, it’s not that. I just… Well, it’s not an easy thing to explain.”

Waylon waved his hands frantically. “Oh, I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.”

“Oh Waylon,” Eddie sighed, reaching across the table to take Waylon’s hand in his own. “You really are too kind.”

Waylon shrugged his shoulders up to his ears, grinning like an idiot at Eddie’s words. Both Miles and Lisa were right; he _was_ a total nerd when it came to anything relationship-wise. He just had no idea how to react to _anything_ Eddie did for him; it was all so strange, so… perfect.

That was when Eddie brought Waylon’s hand up to his lips, kissing his knuckles. He lingered there for a moment before trailing his lips down to his fingers, kissing the tip of each digit.

Waylon’s hand immediately flew to his pants, gripping onto the fabric tightly as his face went as red as a tomato. Eddie was lighting that fire again, and this time, it was traveling a bit lower than his stomach.

Eddie noticed his reaction almost immediately, lips ghosting over Waylon’s ring finger, “Feeling alright?” he asked in a way that could be described as anything but innocent, and soon enough, Waylon felt the pressure of Eddie’s foot against his ankle beneath the cloth of the table.

“Stop it,” Waylon whispered, but the underlying tone in his voice spoke clearly enough that he wanted to leave, and he wanted to leave _now._

He could already tell the type of person Eddie was going to be. He kissed up to where the sleeve of Waylon’s shirt began, gently lowering the limb in favor of giving him look that had Waylon’s heart melting.

“I think…” The blonde groaned softly, leaning further over the table to make sure no one heard them. “I think we should go now.”

Eddie sat back in his seat with a triumphant grin, releasing Waylon’s hand. “Well it wouldn’t be polite to just forget the bill, now would it?”

Waylon made a small sound in the back of his throat, trying his best to keep his cool as the waiter arrived as if hearing Waylon’s silent plea. Before he had the chance to grab his wallet, Eddie whisked a hand.

“I’m paying.” He said with authority, taking the slip of paper into his hand in less than a second.

“I can’t just let you pay for it all yourself…” Waylon protested, but Eddie wasn’t having any of it. He even called the waiter back over to process the card he’d given, and for that, Waylon felt he owed him a life debt.

It seemed Eddie was certainly getting a kick out of watching Waylon squirm in his seat while waiting for the waiter to come back. The blonde tried his best to get his growing blush to take a hike for at least fifteen minutes, but just like everything else he did, it wasn’t working out.

But once the bill was confirmed Waylon was out of his seat, and Eddie was quick to follow.

They walked calmly to the front doors, leaving the building in relative peace. But as soon as they were outside, Waylon was already tugging on Eddie’s sleeve.

“Your place or mine?” He asked breathlessly, causing Eddie to let out a loud laugh as they approached the car. 

“I suppose my house _would_ deduct ten minutes off of the trip back…” Eddie thought aloud, and Waylon immediately felt ashamed of how he keened over Eddie’s words.

“I suppose that means my own.” Eddie chuckled, opening the passenger door for Waylon. As soon as he was inside Eddie climbed into the driver’s side, starting the engine and pulling out of the lot and on the road to home.

As soon as Eddie shut the car off, neither man wasted any time. Waylon struggled with his seatbelt, rushing out as soon as his hands stopped shaking enough that he had a good grip on the buckle. Eddie chuckled, guiding him rather quickly through the front entrance.

Waylon only spared a brief glance at his surroundings. He took note that he was in what looked like a living room decorated with furniture that appeared old, but had a fairly rustic and cozy feeling to them. To his right was a kitchen and bar duo, and to his left, three stairs that led into an extensive hallway.

Of course, he didn’t think on his surroundings for very long. As soon as the door shut behind them Waylon leaned against it, face bright red. And the look Eddie gave him as he approached was not helping the growing need in his pants.

“So,” Eddie started, placing his hands on the door beside Waylon’s head, trapping him in. “Why’d you want to leave so soon? There was still so much we could’ve talked about…”

Waylon opened his mouth to respond, but not a single word escaped him.

Eddie’s grin turned wicked as he lowered one of his hands, bringing Waylon’s palm up to his chin, “What it because of this…?” He asked, placing a gentle kiss against Waylon’s wrist.

Waylon choked on his words as soon as Eddie lowered his hand, mouth immediately aiming for a much more sensitive target; his neck, “Or perhaps,” Eddie whispered, gently nipping at the blonde’s skin as his free hand traveled down Waylon’s chest, across his abdomen. “You wanted to leave for a _different_ reason?”

All Waylon managed was an undignified squeak before Eddie sealed his lips over his own, pressing him further against the door.

Even if Waylon could manage a single word without blubbering like an idiot, Eddie seemed determined to take away his ability to speak as he more or less devoured his mouth. But that didn’t stop him from communicating through body language, pressing himself hungrily against Eddie’s chest.

Eddie curled himself around Waylon’s body, earning a small moan from the younger man. Waylon was almost embarrassed further by the following smile against his lips.

They were both drunk on emotions that they’d kept bottled up throughout the course of their meal. It was strange, the way they acted when they were with one another. It was almost like they’d been dating for years when in reality, he’d only had an actual romantic encounter with Eddie once before.

Soon enough Waylon felt as he was scooped up into Eddie’s arms, the older man ignoring his whimper of protest as he started up the stairs and down the hall towards where Waylon could only assume his bedroom was. Even as he walked they were still kissing, choosing to ignore the pain of knocking into walls and other furniture.

Eddie nudged the furthest door open with his foot, kicking it shut before placing Waylon down onto the bed in front of him. Waylon couldn’t help but feel a twinge of panic at the hollow look Eddie gave him before he was back, kissing him slow and soft.

As they kissed, Waylon became fully aware of the hand gently untucking his dress shirt, starting to undo the buttons as Eddie’s other hand slipped under the fabric and over his bare chest.

This time Waylon didn’t protest, even going so far as to start working the buttons of Eddie’s own shirt. He gently tugged at his bowtie after Eddie had already removed Waylon’s tie. He barely noticed the fact that his own shirt was gone as he slipped his hands over Eddie’s shoulders, pushing the dark fabric up and out of the way.

Once his dress shirt was removed, Waylon couldn’t help but stare, jaw slack. If Eddie’s face resembled the remnants of a paper-shredder, then his torso looked like what was left of wood that had been tossed into the chipper.

Waylon couldn’t even begin to start counting all of the scars and welts across his chest, abs, and arms. They weren’t a turn-off, no; they _fascinated_ Waylon, and as much as he’d like to ask why, he thought it best to save any and all questions for later and focus on the more important task.

The glossed-over look in Eddie’s eyes told him that he misinterpreted his staring, shifting awkwardly where he stood. Waylon pursed his lips, grabbing Eddie’s shoulders before tugging him to sit on his knees in front of him, chest fully displayed.

Before Eddie had the chance to react Waylon leaned forward, pressing his lips as gently as he could against one particular scar over Eddie’s neck. He ran his hand over the expanse of the man’s chest before moving to his collarbone, kissing the next mark over.

Eddie watched Waylon with curiosity as he worked his way across his skin, kissing every single scar he could find. Waylon left his hands wherever he’d been last, as if healing all of Eddie’s wounds with his love alone.

The second Waylon pulled away, Eddie brought his hands down to cup Waylon’s cheeks, “So beautiful,” he murmured, angling the blonde’s head for another, much deeper kiss.

Waylon was left breathless once they pulled apart; he wanted Eddie, and he wanted him _now._

It seemed Eddie was thinking the same thing, pushing the blonde roughly down onto the bed. He leaned down to taste the already sweat-slicked skin of Waylon’s neck as he started unbuttoning the blonde’s pants, drawing all sorts of wanton sounds from his lips.

The look Eddie continued to give him made Waylon throw his head back against the pillow beneath him, a sigh escaping his lips as Eddie finally pulled his slacks off, tossing them carelessly off to the side. 

…And he may or may not have spread his legs that little bit further once Eddie’s hands rested on his knees, head moving down to lick the fold of skin between Waylon’s hip and thigh.

“God, please, I--” Waylon finally gasped, eyes fluttering shut as Eddie’s mouth traveled closer and closer towards where he wanted it to be.

“Please what?” Eddie breathed, spreading his large hands over Waylon’s hips.

“Please, just--” Waylon panted, body jerking when Eddie lowered his head and placed a soft kiss against his inner thigh. He could tell Eddie was trying to stifle a laugh as he continued, and the face Waylon made in retaliation was not lost to the other man.

“You really need to work on using your words, darling,” Eddie teased, mouthing over the fabric of Waylon’s boxers.

“Just fucking--” Waylon whimpered, jerking again as Eddie laughed, fingers digging into the sheets beneath him. “Just please, don’t tease me.”

“Mm, good,” said Eddie, hooking his thumbs under the elastic band of Waylon’s boxers before pulling them down over his hips, thighs, then finally, his calves.

Waylon spread his legs further, completely unaware that he had as he found himself on display for Eddie. The man grinned above him, placing yet another heart-stopping kiss to Waylon’s other thigh.

The difference between the kisses from before was that now Eddie was traveling upwards, mouth trailing over Waylon’s cock. It twitched beneath him as he did so, causing the blonde to groan and toss an arm over his forehead.

Eddie smirked against the head of Waylon’s cock before finally, _finally_ giving it a slow lick, savoring the unfiltered sounds from the blonde. He dipped even lower after that, completely encasing his cock in his mouth. He sucked on his member for only a couple seconds before pulling himself back up, giving Waylon a dark, sultry look.

“Eddie,” Waylon groaned, just the name alone commanding the other man to climb on top of him. “Eddie, please fuck me, or I’m gonna lose my mind.”

Waylon hated how desperate his words sounded, but at this point it couldn’t be helped. Eddie had been a tease the entire night, not even including the conclusion to their trip to the restaurant. If anything, Waylon was just doing the only thing he knew; asking for what he wanted.

With that same unmistakable grin back at full-force, Waylon watched as Eddie leaned over him, reaching into the beside drawer. Even though it was obvious he was searching for some form of lube, the blonde’s eyes still widened at the sight of the large, clear bottle. He couldn’t help but wonder why Eddie just happened to have it on-hand.

It was the sound of the cap popping and the small squirt that brought his attention back to Eddie’s hands, pouring a generous dollop of lubricant against his fingers. Waylon gulped, watching as Eddie spread the gel against his fingers before reaching down between Waylon’s legs.

The blonde was already trembling, legs shaking violently as Eddie’s fingers found his entrance. But the older man seemed patient enough; he ran his spare hand along the underside of Waylon’s thigh, gently massaging him until he calmed down enough to proceed.

When the first finger slid into him, Waylon moaned and clenched around the digit, back arching off of the bed. Eddie leaned forward almost instantly, capturing his lips in a feverish kiss as he pumped his finger in and out, making sure Waylon was comfortable with the first one before adding a second.

In that moment, time stood still. It was just the two of them; Waylon gasping and arching into each thrust of Eddie’s fingers, and Eddie aching at the sight of him.

Waylon cried out as Eddie’s fingers curled inside of him before he yanked them out, climbing off of the bed. He was confused for less than a second before he watched Eddie undressing himself the rest of the way, letting his slacks and boxer briefs fall to the floor.

He stared wide-eyed and nervous at every dip and curve of Eddie’s body; from his chiseled jawline marked with four parallel scratches to his abdomen, looking as if someone had taken a knife and dragged it from his hip to his shoulder. And that was only the beginning.

As Eddie’s let his pants fall, Waylon couldn’t help but notice two scars in particular with fairly similar features. They were both rings; one wrapped around his upper wrist, and the other just below his knee.

The blonde’s eyes flickered back over to the night stand as Eddie took the bottle of lube in his hands, allowing a large glop to pool in his palm before he closed the container back up, tossing it onto a small padded bench across the room.

Eddie coated his own erection generously before climbing back onto the bed, maneuvering himself between Waylon’s legs. Waylon moaned as Eddie’s hands traveled to his hips, kissing him deeply.

Waylon moved against him, trying to pay as little attention as possible to Eddie’s member pressing insistently against his ass. But it because a much harder, more strenuous task when that member began pushing inside of him, filling him up in the most intimate of ways.

The blonde keened, brows furrowed and eyes squeezing shut as Eddie finally pushed himself to the hilt, panting deliciously over Waylon’s writhing body.

“Are you alright…?” Eddie whispered faintly, burying his face into the crook of Waylon’s neck, breathing in the scent of the younger man.

Waylon hummed contently, moving his hands to grip the skin of Eddie’s back as tight as he could without hurting him. So far it wasn’t as bad as he would’ve thought; there was only so much he could remember from their first sexual encounter, and the initial pain definitely wasn’t one of those memories.

The things he’d remembered was how soft and loving Eddie had been with him, despite the fact that they had both been roaring drunk at the time. He remembered gentle caresses and kisses, the way he’d felt cold and hollow afterwards, and Eddie bundling up his shivering frame in blankets before wrapping himself around him.

There was something strange about Eddie. He always acted strange when he was with him, and at this point Waylon was certain that it was only he that he did these things to. It sparked Waylon’s curiosity even further.

Maybe at a later time, he could learn more about the other man. But now probably wasn’t the best moment to start asking questions about the mysteries of the universe.

It wasn’t the best moment, because Eddie started moving.

Each slow thrust caused a high sound to burst from Waylon’s throat, and as hard as he tried to stifle them, it seemed as though Eddie was spurred on by hearing him. With every passing minute he was moving faster, until Waylon was sure he wouldn’t be able to breathe.

“Ngh… Hng… Gah…” Waylon panted in time with Eddie’s thrusts, hands roaming over the older man’s back as he continued, pressing himself up and into Eddie’s chest.

“Waylon…” Eddie groaned, jaw loose and eyes lowered as he moved just fast enough to please Waylon, but slow enough for him to want more. That’s all he could think about; just more, more, _more._

Suddenly Waylon’s vision went white, and all he could do was hold onto Eddie’s shoulders for dear life as he climaxed, stimulated further by the thrusts still burning inside of him.

Less than a minute later Waylon felt the hot, sticky release of Eddie’s own orgasm against his inner walls. All of Waylon’s limbs felt like jello, and he was quick to flop lazily onto the bedsheets as Eddie remained in him until he rode out the remainder of his own climax.

Eddie sighed, plopping down beside Waylon, taking a hand and running it through his sweat-soaked locks before pulling him closer, placing a gentle kiss to Waylon’s forehead.

“This…” Eddie began, licking his lips as his shoulders heaved from the lack of oxygen in his system. “This is going to be a strange question, but it’s one… one I need to ask.”

Waylon’s eyes fluttered open, staring at Eddie quizzically. “W-what is it?”

It was almost adorable to watch Eddie bite his bottom lip, casting his gaze elsewhere for that split second of hesitation before he finally asked, “How old are you, darling?”

Waylon paused, letting out a long sigh. “Twenty-two.”

The look that Eddie gave him immediately took him aback. It almost looked like… Panic? No. No, that couldn’t be right.

“Why? How,” Waylon coughed. “How old are _you?”_

Eddie rolled over onto his back, sighing. “I’m forty-six years old.”

“Oh,” said Waylon, brows raising. “Well if it’s all the same to you, our age difference doesn’t bother me.”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Eddie mumbled, bringing a hand up to clasp his forehead. “Don’t worry, darling. I’m alright. Just thinking is all.”

“Then why’d you ask?”

Eddie’s lips thinned into a fine line as he looked back at Waylon. “No reason, really. I was just curious is all.”

Waylon wasn’t entirely satisfied with the answer, but he felt himself growing drowsier by the minute, and thinking too hard definitely wouldn’t help him in the long run. And it seemed Eddie was in no better state; the man yawned, draping his arm over Waylon’s middle and hugging him close to his chest.

“Goodnight, Waylon…” Eddie mumbled, burying his face in Waylon’s hair.

Waylon let out a small hum, tugging his arms up under Eddie’s arms before letting out a yawn of his own. “Goodnight, Eddie.”


	5. Flashback - The Dark Ages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t depend too much on anyone in this world because even your own shadow leaves you when you are in darkness.”  
>  _-Taqî ad-Dîn Aḥmad ibn Taymiyyah_
> 
>  
> 
> **498 AD**

“Why must you always tie them like this?”

“It keeps your hair in place. If you didn’t do mercenary work, or if you cut your hair, then I wouldn’t have to tie it back every day.”

“But why must you always tie it so _painfully?”_

“This will make sure it stays in place. Besides, it suits you.”

“…Are you done yet?”

_“Cato.”_

Cato grumbled under his breath, biting at the nail of his thumb as Waylon worked behind him, running thin fingers through jet-black hair. It felt like an eternity of yanking, pinching, and tugging before the hold started to loosen, signaling that the younger man had made it past his scalp.

Every morning started off exactly the same. Waylon would wake up first, using what they had to make a meal before waking Cato as soon as the sundial positioned itself over IV. They would eat, Waylon would braid his hair, and Cato would be out of the house by the next hour.

The home surrounding them had been built with blood, sweat, tears, and shame just to keep it together. It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if he learned that some of the stone had been stolen from the coliseum; they were close enough, and when Rome had fallen, that was where everyone had gone for supplies first.

Cato had been forced to live through all of it. Slaves revolting against their masters, attacking, following the lead of the Visigoths as they wielded their power against the gods, against Rome.

He had fought, for a time. In the beginning, he thought there was still hope for the crumbling empire, and he’d served faithfully. Until he realized he was the only one left.

When everyone had fled, Cato had found it in his best interest to do the same. There was no point in staying if it meant no one was left with him.

Through all the chaos, Cato wasn’t really sure when Waylon had been born. The younger man preferred to keep his past hidden as well as he could. All he knew was that Waylon had been born into a home of people who used to be Germanic slaves of Roman aristocrats, and that he’d lost his mother’s hand while fleeing a group of cannibalistic Visigoths.

By the time Cato had found him, Waylon had been starved and beaten, selling handmade necklaces and bracelets just to survive. He’d been passed out over his blanket on the side of the walkway, allowing people to snatch his merchandise while he was at his weakest.

Cato had first felt for a pulse, then picked him up to check his weight. Waylon had been barely conscious during his short assessment; he’d been as easy to carry as a satchel of bread, and the tear in his robe over his waist revealed ribs, skin pulled taut against them.

Of course, Cato had brought him home; he’d fed Waylon and made sure he healed nicely before allowing him freedom. Of course, Waylon hadn’t wanted to leave. Cato knew he would choose to stay, but allowing the blonde the option gave him that small hint of comfort.

The eighteen-year-old had turned out to be a bit _too_ grateful for what Cato had done. Every time he returned home Waylon would jump up, immediately offering too cook whatever he’d bought at the market, get a bath ready when he was covered in dirt, or patch his tattered clothing.

And of course, as Cato had also expected, a nineteen-year-old Waylon confessed that he was madly in love with him, and that he would do anything for him. Cato loved Waylon, too. He loved how pleasant he was, despite how dull and dark the world appeared to be. He was the one sliver of light he had claimed as his own.

But he tended to forget about the light when Waylon yanked on his hair like he were a whore being dragged out of the house by her father.

“There,” said Waylon, a triumphant edge to his voice as he lifted the end of Cato’s braid, placing it over his shoulder. “It’s done, you big baby.”

Cato let out a long groan of relief, coming to a stand as Waylon scooted back against the floor to survey his work. He finally turned to face the younger man, expression holding a look of complete irritation, but bright blue eyes glinted to him in silent thanks.

“Would you like me to wrap it up for you…?”

_“No.”_

“Well, it was worth a try. _You’re_ the one who allowed it to grow to your waist.”

The older man rolled his eyes, approaching Waylon before taking his cheeks into his hands. He blinked, casting his gaze lower as he grasped the hood of Waylon’s robes, gently tugging them up and over his head until only his bangs and the end of his hair was visible.

Waylon held the hand against his right cheek, eyes glossy. “Why must I always hide, Cato…?”

Cato’s shoulders slumped, head lowering. “I only want you to be safe, my love.”

“You’ve told me so much,” Waylon continued, shaking his head. “I know you. You live an eternity, while I cannot. But I can’t spend the rest of my life underground.”

When Cato didn’t respond, Waylon sighed. “I love you, Cato Numida.”

Finally, Cato sighed. “And I love you, Waylon Sylla. But don’t you see what’s happening around us? Don’t you remember what happened to _you?”_

“That was years ago. It’s not like that now. You allowed me more freedom when I was younger, when you found me like that; what’s changed?” Waylon protested, tilting his head to the side.

“I just…” Cato trailed off, closing his eyes. He didn’t want Waylon to know; he knew he wouldn’t be able to take it. He was of age, XXIII years; if he didn’t do something, he could die. He could die _horribly._

At this point, he didn’t want to risk a single thing over Waylon’s protection. His birth was closing in again, fast; Cato wanted to seal it as soon as possible, and confirm Waylon would stay alive.

All he had to do was make it to the next year. He was so _close._

Instead of answering Cato leaned down, placing a deep, slow kiss against Waylon’s lips. He tried to pool all of his emotions into it as he took hold of his upper arms, squeezing tight. Waylon moaned against him as he pulled away, staring wide-eyed and lost.

“Please,” Cato begged, brushing the blonde’s bangs out of his eyes. “Please, stay downstairs until I get back.”

“…Okay.” Waylon finally caved, stepping back as Cato walked to the front entrance, grabbing his belt and sheath before securing them around his waist. He reached to the holding beside the door, sliding a long, gleaming sword into his belt.

When Cato looked back over his shoulder, Waylon was still wearing the same worried expression as before as he said, “You better be safe out there, okay?”

Cato paused, leaning against the doorframe. He contemplated his options before moving back to Waylon, placing a final kiss to his forehead before heading outside. “I’ll be back by dusk, my love.”

* * *

The screaming was what drew him back.

Cato ran as fast as he could, fingers wrapped around the handle of his sword as he turned corner after corner in the dark of night, searching for the doorway he had long ago marked as his own.

As soon as he reached the familiar blanketed exterior Cato rushed through the entryway, drawing his sword. The house was silent; there wasn’t a speck out of place.

“Waylon?!”

Cato made his way into the next room over, brows furrowing as he found the grand table flipped over, the trap door he’d hidden so meticulously, wide open.

He sheathed his sword, hopping down the ladder that lead into the dark underground bunker before whipping around, scanning the area. No one lingered in the darkness, as far as he could tell. Only a single candle was lit beside the hay bed and velvet blankets across the room.

As he got closer to the light, Cato found several small characters inscribed into the wall under one larger symbol. It formed one full word.

_‘Mortem’_

Two screams echoed into the night above, followed by what could be described as a pack of cackling hyenas. They were human-sounding, but barely. Cato climbed back up the ladder before running out the door, searching for the source of the noise.

Just as he started up the road, the same two screams from before were accompanied by a third to make one loud, undistinguishable cry of terror. Cato grappled onto a hanging flag over the building closest to him, scaling the wall until he was high enough to see over the majority of the towers surrounding him.

A little ways into the distance, he saw it. The glow of fire following dark shadows as they rampaged, flying down the road as if walking on air. Torches, probably. Cato snarled, dropping back down onto the road before following the trail of lights.

Another scream guided him, probably one of the victims of the trio. It was female, crying out for help from the left. Another one, male, begged for mercy in the opposite direction before cutting off from a blade to the throat; at least, that was his prediction from the loud, metallic squelching sound that followed.

The female voice sounded distant and distorted, telling him he was too far from them already to be able to save her. Who were these people? They couldn’t be the remnants of the Visigoth; they wouldn’t attack like this.

That was when he heard it; the third voice, begging and pleading in between intervals of screams from what sounded just a street away. Cato would know that voice anywhere. That soft, gentle whisper turned rabid.

He couldn’t see. Couldn’t think. Blinded by fury Cato charged forward, swinging around a long-abandoned shop to find his target. A well-built man wearing rusted finery, hands buried deep in the chest of his helpless victim.

Waylon.

Cato roared in both fury and anguish, taking his sword and slicing as hard and fast as he could across the man’s neck. He kicked his chest back as his nearly-headless body crumpled, bleeding out onto the thick stone walkway.

His death didn’t hold Cato’s attention for more than a second before he collapsed beside Waylon, pulling a thick dagger out of his abdomen. The older man removed his cloak next, placing it over the large incision that’d been made to Waylon’s chest.

The blonde choked and cried, finally making managing to make eye-contact with Cato. The older man’s eyes were already streaming with tears at the sudden realization that there was no way he was going to be able to save him.

He glanced back over to the dead attacker, taking note of the large, bloody satchel beside the man’s decapitated head. Thick goop dripped from the cover, and with that, Cato’s eyes trailed up to their blood-stained lips.

“Cannibals,” Cato chocked, turning back to Waylon as soon as he felt the soft touch of the younger man’s fingers against the back of his hand. 

The blonde tried a small smile, head lolling onto the pavement. His breaths were coming out slow and ragged, and Cato so desperately wanted to put him out of his misery. He would’ve, if his entire being hadn’t locked up at the sight of him. What he had allowed to happen.

 _‘If I’d just taken the extra precautions, if I’d come home_ on time--”

Cato didn’t even realize he’d cradled Waylon to his chest until he started sobbing, clutching the younger man’s robes in his sweaty, blood-stained palms. He cried after Waylon fell slack in his arms. After he’d stopped breathing. After so much time had passed that the cannibal’s torch had extinguished itself.

It wasn’t until sand began to settle between his fingers did he stop crying. His eyes widened, staring down at Waylon’s crumbling form in his arms as he disintegrated, turning into grains of black dust beneath him.

He held him even after he was nothing but particles flying away with the wind, becoming one with absolutely nothing. The cannibal lay dead, but Waylon did not.

Cato stood, unhooking the pocket of his sheath before reaching inside. He felt one last, silent tear slide down his cheek as his fingers wrapped around a small metal piece inside of it, pulling out the small ring that’d he’d hidden away.

He hadn’t gone out for mercenary work.

He’d gone out to get a ring.

Waylon had almost reached XXIV. He’d really thought he’d be able to save him.

As Cato stared down at the ring, he had to restrain himself from shedding any more tears as he sighed, clutching the piece of jewelry to his chest. “You are the light of my life, the only one I would ever want, my love.”

He stared up to the starry skies, pretending that he could still see what Waylon had become, even though he’d already been looking for a thousand years. 

“I will _never_ stop trying.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus begins the start of the flashback chapters. These will be occurring every other chapter until they're finished. I allowed them to be shorter than the usual chapters, but I'm almost certain that future flashback chapters will be MUCH longer.
> 
> Eddie has changed his name thousands of times since it began. Cato Numida = Eddie Gluskin.


	6. Invited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More wedding planning, meanwhile Eddie receives a small invitation.

“Do you think I own any fancy clothing? Do you have any idea who I _am?”_ Miles pouted, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You two are _hopeless.”_

Lisa scanned the racks in front of her, tapping her chin with her forefinger. “We need to get suits for all three of you.”

“And again,” Waylon grumbled, slumping over into one of the nearby chairs. “Where’s your fiancé?”

At that Lisa rolled her eyes, placing her hands on her hips, “Look, we made a deal when we started planning the wedding. I handle the clothing and flowers, and he handles everything else. _Everything. Else.”_ She scoffed, yanking Waylon off of the chair. “Now help me pick; _you’re_ going to be the ones wearing these, not me.”

“Then why didn’t you call Steve, too?” Miles retaliated. “He’s a groomsman.”

“Because I hardly know Steve.”

“Mm, of course.”

Waylon shuffled after Lisa solely for the fact that he didn’t want her picking out something ridiculous for him to wear on her wedding day. Knowing Lisa, she would want to buy something overly extravagant, and Waylon was not only there for support, but to save her financially.

As they continued their search, Lisa sighed, running her hand over a mannequin dressed in yet another basic-looking suit. “Maybe this one? I feel like we should get aqua-colored flowers, or pins, so they match the bridesmaids.”

She was quick to call an attendant over, the two immersing themselves in talk over the suit. Waylon paid them no attention; he turned back to Miles, watching as he groaned and slumped down onto the floor.

“Get up Miles, you’re being rude,” Waylon hissed, nudging the toe of his shoe roughly into Miles’ side.

As the brunette rose back to a stand he pouted again, crossing his arms over his chest, “Dude, I really don’t care what she picks out for us. We’ve already been here for an _hour.”_ He whispered, eyes narrowing.

“What if this was _your_ wedding? Stop acting like a baby.”

As Waylon turned back around, he found Lisa holding a suit up in front of him, nearly startling him off of his feet, “Here Way, try it on! I wanna see one of you in it to make sure it looks okay,” Lisa smiled, placing the different pieces into Waylon’s arms.

Miles cackled, earning a harsh glare from Waylon in return. Lisa ignored them, continuing. “I think I’m gonna go through with the flower idea. I can’t wait until the dresses are done, I’m sure that tailor I hired is perfect for the job!”

At the mention of Gluskin, Waylon looked to Miles in panic. The other man’s laugh intensified, and a blush quickly made its was over Waylon’s cheeks, down his neck.

Lisa smiled as well, “Oh, did he tell you about his crush, Miles?” She asked, holding back a snort.

“Oh, Lisa,” Miles began, leaning over onto a nearby counter. “Waylon had a--”

“Miles, shut it!” Waylon pleaded, trying to cover the brunette’s mouth, but it was already too late.

Miles pried himself away. “--Waylon had a _fun_ time with him about two weeks ago.”

The color immediately drained from Lisa’s face at Miles’ words, a wide smirk splitting her cheeks as Waylon ducked his head, attempting to sneak around her and into the changing room as she’d requested. The last thing he wanted to talk about in the middle of a public store was his… Encounters with Eddie Gluskin.

Unfortunately, Lisa wasn’t ready to let him go so easily, grabbing the neck of Waylon’s shirt and yanking him forward without so much as a second thought, “No-no-no Way,” Lisa shook her head, grabbing his shoulders. “You _have_ to tell me-- Did you have sex with him?”

Lisa attempted to keep her voice at a whisper, but even the smallest sound in the already quiet store grabbed the attention of those nearby. An older woman gave them a dirty look as she passed by. Waylon wanted to melt into the floor.

Maybe at a later time, somewhere else where people weren’t swarming around them and Miles didn’t feel like dropping bombs at inconvenient times, he would tell Lisa everything she wanted to hear. But now was _not_ one of those times.

And with that Waylon ducked out of her hold, rushing into the changing room before slamming the door shut behind him. As soon as he was relieved into silence Waylon wheezed, plopping down into the chair provided.

He immediately busied himself with changing into the suit. Even as he did, he couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen as soon as he left the changing room, and how he’d be able to explain everything to Lisa without having the entire universe know about every last detail involving his sex life.

It seemed foolish now that he went to Miles first about Eddie, and not Lisa. Lisa had been there with him the day they’d initially met, and was less likely to be a bastard about it in public.

At least Miles didn’t know about the two other times he’d gone to see Eddie that week, following their first date.

The first time had been a movie date, and Waylon had been the one to ask. After the night they’d gone out to dinner, he’d felt an overwhelming attraction towards the other man that just begged Waylon to see him again.

They hadn’t gone any further after the movie, however. Eddie had driven him home, and they’d… Well, they’d been a little heated with their goodbye kiss, but Waylon had thrown himself into bed that night feeling content with the whole world, spinning on its axis. 

For their third date they’d gone to the county fair a town over, contenting themselves with cheesy, rigged games that Waylon could never seem to win but once. Eddie, on the other hand, had been able to beat all of the games they’d picked out when the money was gone and Waylon accepted defeat.

That night had ended similarly to their dinner date.

Waylon sighed and stood, opening the door to Lisa’s prying eyes.

“Hmm,” She pondered, tilting her head. “I think I like it. Really like it, actually. You look cute, Way!”

Waylon blushed, bringing his hands up to hold his arms. He wished Lisa would just get it over with already…

“Okay, looks good, you can change back,” She said, waving a hand dismissively before turning back to speak with the attendant.

As Waylon changed, he pondered just what he was going to say to Lisa once he opened the door again and was held hostage to her bombardment of questions. She would never let a subject like that go so easily, and he could tell she was just waiting for them to leave the store before releasing every last thought held back.

So, Waylon changed as slowly as he could. It only delayed the inevitable, however, and soon enough they were back onto the crowded streets, Waylon crushed in Lisa’s embrace.

“Waaaay!” She squealed, releasing the defenseless man only when he began to choke. “I’m so happy for you! What did I tell you, huh? It’s destiny!”

The blonde groaned, glaring at Miles next. The man simply shrugged, grinning from ear to ear as Lisa continued rambling. “How far have you gone? Have you gone on a lot of dates? Do you think things are getting serious?”

“Lisa,” Waylon breathed, cutting his friend off mid-scream. “I promise, I’ll answer any and all questions you have at a later time, but for now I _really_ don’t want to talk about this in the middle of the sidewalk on a busy street.”

Lisa pursed her lips, rolling her eyes, “Fair enough. But in the future, if things _are_ going good and you feel that you’re getting pretty serious, you’re more than welcome to bring him as a plus-one to the wedding. I have absolutely no objections.” She said, grinning.

“Alright, Lisa. I’ll consider it,” Waylon grumbled, tossing his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt as they continued walking down the sidewalk.

“Which reminds me,” Miles chimed in, squeezing himself between Lisa and Waylon. “I told Waylon that I wanted to look into the guy, so I did a couple days ago.”

Waylon cringed, “Miles, can you just… let it go? I’m not sure how I feel about you stalking Eddie…”

“Aw, I was hoping you were gonna say ‘my boyfriend’,” said Lisa, nudging Waylon’s shoulder-- well, as much as she could with Miles between them.

“Calm your panties, I’m not done talking,” Miles huffed, turning to Waylon. “Besides, you’ll probably be happy to know I couldn’t find anything on him past his current residence in the U S of A.”

Waylon shook his head. “ _Good.”_

“You may think that’s good now, but here’s the thing-- I said I couldn’t find anything on him besides his time in the U.S. I managed to find twenty-nine years on him here.” said Miles, flashing all ten of his fingers twice.

At that Waylon stopped walking. It took Lisa and Miles a moment to notice, turning back towards him, “Way?” Lisa asked first, tilting her head. “You okay?”

“That’s...” Waylon paused, giving Miles a hard look. “That’s not possible.”

Miles gave a faint chuckle, his smile disappearing. “It’s not? It’s a record, Waylon.”

“No, no, that’s impossible,” said Waylon, shaking his head. “He told me he’s been living here for twelve.”

Both Miles and Lisa looked to each other at that. Waylon looked to the cement of the sidewalk, thinking. “That’s not possible because he _told me_ he’s lived here for twelve years-- He came here from Australia twelve years ago, and he lived there for five and, and he told me about all of the places he’d lived before that…”

Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder, and Waylon glanced up to find Lisa looking down at him sympathetically. Miles shrugged, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Maybe he just hasn’t been as honest with you as you thought.”

“You’re lying!” Waylon cried out angrily, voice rising in volume as he glared even harder at Miles. “He wouldn’t lie to me.”

“You haven’t known him for that long, Way. It’s only been a couple of weeks,” said Miles, taking a small step towards him. “I mean, if he’s lying to you _now,_ what’ll it be like when--”

“He wasn’t lying to me!” Waylon yelled, shoving the other man. “ _You’re_ lying!”

Lisa took a step back, holding out her hands. “Waylon, please calm down...”

“Way,” Miles sighed, shoulders lowering. “Maybe you should just _talk_ to him, then. I can show you the documentation if you really wanna see it, but I think this guy’s keeping more secrets from you than you think.

“I mean hell, any and all documentation on him before coming here is lost to history,” He said, shrugging. “If I had to guess, that was probably done on purpose.”

“Okay, can we just, get through the rest of the day calmly? Way’s getting upset,” Lisa said, finally ending the torment as she wrapped an arm around Waylon’s shoulders. She started to walk them down the road, rubbing her hand up and down Waylon’s arm.

“It’s okay Waylon, just talk to him,” Lisa consoled. “He seemed like a nice enough man when I met him. Do you think he was lying to you?”

Waylon shrugged, defeated. “I… I don’t know.”

Miles frowned. “Well… Maybe it’s like one of those dramatic romance stories where they say, ‘I only did this to protect you,’ and then you get all fluttery ‘n shit. Oh! And then you become a princess and live happily ever after!”

Waylon had to let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “That sounds really, _really_ corny.”

“Hey, you never know man,” Miles cackled. “Maybe you’re secretly a lost princess and Eddie is like the prince that lost you, and he’s been trying to find you. Oh shit, I could write a book about that, and I’d use both of your full names, just ‘cause.”

“Naw, I’d say he’s more like a king,” Lisa pondered, grinning. “I can see him ruling the kingdom, and Waylon’s the most _beautiful_ man in town; _the one that got away.”_

“Seriously, you guys need to stop,” said Waylon, sighing. “I’ll talk to him about it sometime soon, but only if both of you two stop coming up with ridiculous scenarios.”

Lisa rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine. But you better re-introduce him to me sometime soon, or I’m gonna be very angry with you.”

* * *

It was late at night when his phone started to ring. 

Eddie placed his shirt down, breathing heavily as he fumbled with his phone over the nearby counter. He was almost annoyed by the fact that someone was trying to call him while he’d been in the middle of working out, until he read the caller I.D.

“Darling,” He breathed as soon as he hit the answer button, attempting to sound less exhausted than he was.

“Hey Eddie,” Waylon’s small voice answered from the other end of the line, and unlike Eddie, he didn’t bother trying to hide the sleepiness in his voice as he spoke. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, darling,” He answered almost immediately, shifting the phone between his ear and shoulder as he toweled off his sweat-soaked face. “You sound tired. Why are you calling so late?”

A long sigh came from the other end of the line, followed by silence. Really, Eddie knew that Waylon had always been an easily tired man, never hearing much of anything past ten at night. His phone said it was eleven-fifteen; so why was Waylon calling?

“Nothing… I just wanted to hear your voice, I guess.” said Waylon tiredly. Eddie picked up on a fairly audible yawn as the man continued. “It was… a busy day.”

“Are you sure you shouldn’t be getting some sleep?” Eddie asked next, unable to hide the amusement in his voice.

“Shouldn’t _you?”_ Waylon retorted, followed by another loud yawn.

Eddie chuckled, shaking his head. “Darling, you sound exhausted.”

“Nyeah, phooey,” Waylon grumbled, and Eddie heard the shift of the phone in the other man’s hands before he continued. “I was just thinking about a lot of stuff today, one of which being Lisa’s wedding.”

Eddie only hummed in acknowledgement, so Waylon proceeded. “She told me if things were going well by the time the actual wedding rolls around, I could bring you as my plus-one.”

At that Eddie paused, leaning over the counter. As nice of a thought as it sounded… “I don’t want to rush you into anything, darling. I think that’d be something you decided for yourself, when the time comes.”

“Yeah, I know,” Waylon grumbled. “I was just thinking about that a lot. And another thing that’s happening in about two weeks, too…”

“Oh?” Eddie questioned, voice lowering. “And what might that be?”

“My birthday.”

Eddie froze. The phone nearly slipped out of his hand as he processed the words; those dreaded words. _”My birthday.”_

Eddie tried to keep both the fear and anger out of his voice when he finally managed to work up the courage to respond. “That’s… that’s wonderful, darling. What day is it?”

“The eighteenth,” Waylon chuckled. “Usually Miles and Lisa come over and we have dinner. I would really like it if you were there, too.”

“It’s done,” Eddie replied almost immediately, a faint smile curing his lips. “I’ll be there.”

“Awesome,” Waylon breathed, letting out another short, clipped chuckle.

The line was silent for a few moments after that; all they did was listen to each other breathing, until Eddie spoke up. “Is there anything else you wanted?”

The line went silent for a few seconds more. Waylon let out a short noise that Eddie couldn’t decipher, followed by a small swishing sound from his end of the line. “No… no. That’s… that’s it.”

Eddie hummed, shaking his head. “You should get some sleep, then. How about I take you out to lunch tomorrow?”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” said Waylon. “I’m not doing anything, anyway.”

“Great. Goodnight, darling.”

“Night, Eddie.”

_Click._

Eddie tossed his phone back down onto the counter, running a hand through his hair. It couldn’t be Waylon’s birthday so soon-- Could it?

As much as he would love to start yelling and throwing things around the house, Eddie knew it would be pointless. Throwing a fit and getting worked up wasn’t going to change the fact that Waylon’s birthday was in two weeks. _Two weeks,_ and then it would all come crashing down from there.

Sometimes Eddie just liked to pretend that Waylon didn’t have a twenty-third birthday. That he stopped aging at twenty-two; but that would be ridiculous. 

It was almost like he was staving off the inevitable. For all those years, not once has the alignment gone astray… for the most part.

But that was a part of his life he didn’t like to think about.

Eddie rubbed his forehead, trying to distract himself with other thoughts. Anything else would do; he didn’t want to dwell on Waylon’s birthday any longer, knowing it would only agitate him further and throw him back into his depression without a second thought, or care.

So instead, he tried to focus on why Waylon had called him so late. He’d definitely wanted to say something, and it didn’t sound like it was supposed to be the invitation alone.

He knew Waylon all too well. The tone he’d used while talking told Eddie he was worried about something, maybe nervous. Like he’d wanted to say something, but just couldn’t get it out.

Maybe he’d be more willing to talk over lunch tomorrow.

Eddie glanced around, observing the equipment strewn about the other end of the room. He was almost done, anyway; a few more push-ups and then he could probably clean up and call it a night.

As he laid in bed half an hour later, Eddie couldn’t stop the surging of thoughts over Waylon’s birthday from invading his mind once more.

_‘Should I just tell him?’_

_‘Is it even worth telling him at this point?’_

_‘This would’ve been so much easier if he was younger.’_

_‘Why do I have to do this_ now?’

Eddie groaned, rolling over in his bed. His eyes landed on the faint outline of a scar; one scar in particular, circling his wrist. He trailed his fingers across it, sighing.

_“Alright everyone, lets get this over with. Take these three to the executioners stone. As for this one… What’s he here for, again?”_

_“We found him wandering in from one of the neighboring kingdoms, I think. He tried stealing a horse.”_

_“What’s your name, son?”_

_“…Alright, Godfrey. Which hand do you like the most?”_

_“Just take off his hand then. I’m already sick of being here.”_

Eddie rolled back over, closing his eyes and trying to think of better times.

It was the only thing he could do to keep himself sane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very short and clipped chapter, I know.
> 
> I also set up my usual tradmark playlist, this time for Into the Night, found [here](http://peachycans.tumblr.com/post/163063320493/cover-art-made-by-the-lovely-dandy-canary-into/). [And here is Eddie and Waylon from the last chapter](http://peachycans.tumblr.com/post/163801706243/into-the-night-flashback-1-the-dark-ages/).


	7. Flashback - The Medieval Period

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Most have been forgotten. Most deserve to be forgotten. The heroes will always be remembered. The best. The best and the worst. And a few who were a bit of both.”  
>  _-George R.R. Martin_
> 
> **1163 AD**

“Your highness!”

Favian tugged at the robes hanging over his clothing, eyes rolling back into his skull as his advisor raced down the hall towards him. Honestly, he swore, the court couldn’t leave him alone for more than a moment.

Instead of berating the man, Favian put on a fake smile, turning towards him. “What is it now? Is there a new development from Kenmare?”

“N-no,” the man stuttered, casting his gaze down to the floor. “They’ve remained stable over the last few months, nothing new. We’re just… _concerned_ over how much time you’ve been spending in town is all. We don’t know if they’ve been sending spies into our midst.”

“If that’s the case,” said Favian, twirling a dagger between his fingers. He sheathed it into his the holster of his belt, covering it up with more robes. “-Then I can handle them.”

The man seemed rather uneasy, shifting on his feet as he dared to make eye-contact with Favian. “I understand your highness, but the rest of the court isn’t aware of your… condition. I advise you not only to make sure there isn’t an attack, but to keep you underground as well.”

“And I understand that,” Favian scoffed, shaking his head. “But right now I’m working on something important. Just-- tell them I have a work in progress.”

“As you wish,” said the man, resigning with a small huff before retracing his steps back the way he’d came.

Favian let out a long sigh, pulling the hood over his head before walking down the hall and out through the back passageway. Once he was a good enough distance away from the castle, he headed out onto the cobblestone roads, making his way through the town’s center.

People milled about all throughout the market, busying themselves with goods and people and places. Favian wasn’t out to do anything adventurous; all he wanted to do was drink cheap liquor and pretend that the court hadn’t been hounding his ass for the last two months.

Eventually he began to make his way into the poor sector, strolling past rotting houses and shops before coming across a place that looked seedy enough for him to stop and get a couple of drinks. Maybe if the place was bad enough, there would be a few more prisoners in their cells by the end of the night.

It was already fairly late; the sky had only a few specks of yellow and orange left in it. Favian walked through the doorway, glancing around to find rough-looking men and overly touchy women sauntering around. As disgusted as he was, Favian headed straight for the counter, taking a seat in one of the small stools provided.

The poor sector had always the best places to go in order to be alone and drink; no one questioned the hood and cloak, and seeing someone wandering the streets who appeared as he did was considered normal.

The man on the other side of the counter was taking more time to serve him than Favian would’ve preferred. He let out a long sigh, glancing over at the rest of the people seated at the counter.

One was a man who looked like he might’ve been able to take Favian in a good fight, had he not been immortal. He seemed like he was a man who kept to his own business, hunched over the counter while sipping on a tall glass of some substance Favian didn’t care to identify.

There was also a man and a woman further down the row. The woman had her back turned to him, and the man looked as if he was seething, gripping the woman’s arms tightly as he spoke.

The man seemed like an older fellow; if Favian had to guess, he seemed to be in around his late forties to early fifties. A decently aged man. He had wrinkles under his eyes and light brown hair that appeared to be on the edge of graying, a hard jaw, and scuffed clothing.

From what Favian could see of the woman, she appeared short with long blonde hair flowing down her back. She had several silver ties atop her head and a tied-up dress that hugged her waist. Her clothing seemed in a better condition than the man’s, and suddenly, Favian wasn’t sure if the two were affiliated with one another.

As much as Favian would’ve loved to step up and defend her, he wouldn’t risk giving himself away unless something drastic happened.

Such as the man, lifting a hand before smacking her audibly across the cheek. She toppled against the counter, breaths coming out ragged and hard.

Favian stood up sharply, approaching just as the man stormed outside in a huff. He wanted to go after him, but not before making sure the woman was okay.

“Pardon me miss, are you alright…?” Favian asked, voice trailing off as the woman turned around, wide brown eyes staring up at him in fright.

Instead of responding, she-- correction, _he,_ backed up against the counter. Before Favian could begin to console him, there was a hand tapping against his shoulder from behind.

He whipped around to find himself-face-to-face with the man from before, his cheeks beet red and teeth clenched, “She ain’t gonna talk unless you pay up front,” said the man, thumbs hooked under his belt.

“Excuse me?” Favian hissed, shoving the man away from him. “What is god’s name you talking about?”

The man couldn’t see Favian’s look of disgust under his cloak, but he chuckled as if he had. “Five pieces of silver for the whole night with ‘er. She’s got a little bit extra, too.”

Favian scoffed, turning back towards the counter. He glanced the man’s ‘merchandise’ up and down only once before turning his gaze back towards him, “How can you sell someone so young? You make me sick.” he said, gesturing towards the counter.

The man shrugged. “Look, I don’t give a damn whether the other bits put you off. If you ain’t a customer, then I suggest you leave me to my business.”

“Alright then,” Favian scoffed, grabbing the man by the collar of his shirt. A couple other patrons sitting around hooted and hollered as Favian dragged him into one of the backrooms, tossing him against the wall before slamming the door shut behind them.

“Don’t kill me,” said the man, backing against the wall. He held his hands up beside his head, waving them in front of his face.

Before he could utter another word Favian pulled a bag of coins out of a pocket of his robe, tossing it into the other man’s chest. 

The man seemed startled by the metallic clang that came from within the sack, quick to untie the rope before rifling through the currency inside. His face practically lit up with joy; Favian wanted to vomit.

“You take that,” said Favian, pointing towards the bag. “And _he_ comes with me.”

“Oh, you’ve got yourself a deal,” the man said with a disgusting amount of pleasure laced into his voice. “I’ve gotta warn ya though, she’s only fifteen. Not developed enough to be as good as the real thing, and she’s got a tendency to scream. Gets real annoying at times.”

“You disgust me,” Favian hissed, leaving the room and walking back into the main tavern rather quickly.

Favian approached the man from before as cautiously as he could, holding out a hand, “It’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you, and I won’t force anything upon you. You’re safe from him. Would you come with me?” he asked quickly, careful to keep his voice as calm and collected as he could manage.

The man still looked as nervous as he had before, but his hand reached forward as if on instinct, gripping Favian’s tightly. Favian’s hand almost completely enclosed his, just like it always had.

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to come back here,” Favian muttered as he ushered the man out the door and into the cool night air. “He’s not going to touch you again, okay?”

As they began walking, Favian made sure to keep the man close to his side as they made their way up the road. He glanced down at him briefly, “What’s your name?” he asked, even though he already knew.

“W-Waylon Bennett,” the man mumbled, keeping his gaze to the ground as he walked.

Favian hummed in response. Things fell into relative silence between them shortly after. It seemed Waylon wasn’t in the mood for talking, and if Favian was honest with himself, he didn’t have much to say, either.

Once they were in the upper-class sectors of the town, people began to give second glances towards them; especially Waylon, who brought himself closer to Favian’s side.

Waylon finally looked up at him, lips parted. “W-who are you?”

“You’ll see; we’re almost there,” Favian assured, cutting out of the market and down the trail leading to the underground entrance of the castle. It wasn’t safe to let Waylon know where he was _just_ yet.

Waylon chose to keep quiet and not question him as he unlocked the door, closing it quietly behind them. Favian held the other man’s hand gently through the near-darkness of the hall, guiding him up a small set of stairs before they were back in the castle, safe and sound.

“What… Where…?” Waylon asked, glancing around.

Favian undid the clasps of his robe, tugging the hood off of his head before undoing the rest of his garb. Once he was done he looked back to Waylon, watching as the teenager’s mouth as it opened and closed, over and over.

Finally, he managed a short, “Your highness-!” before immediately lowering himself into a bow.

Favian waved a hand, shaking his head. “Please, there’s no need for that.”

Waylon was upright in an instant, face beet-red, legs shaking. “I-I’m sorry.”

Before Favian could say anything else, he heard his name as it was called from the other end of the hall. Favian rubbed a hand over his face, disappointed that he hadn’t even gotten one drink in before a servant rushed over, plucking the robe from his arm.

“Dinner will be served shortly,” the woman breathed, folding the cloth up in her arms. Her gaze trailed to Waylon next, eyes widening. “Who… who’s this? Do we have a guest?”

“It’s nothing you should concern yourself over. Please tell the chefs to set the table for two.” Favian ordered, giving the woman a look that clearly said, _‘If you bring this up to anyone, you’ll be sorry.’_

“Right away, your highness.” said the woman, bowing dutifully before rushing off in the opposite direction.

Favian glanced back down towards Waylon, who was still staring at him with the same starry-eyed look from before. Favian smirked. “Follow me; you should dress yourself in something more… presentable, for dinner.”

Waylon nodded quickly, seemingly at a loss for words as Favian guided him forward into the main hall and up several flights of stairs. All the while Waylon stared around whimsically, seemingly lost in his environment as Favian walked over to a large door standing a few feet down the third floor hallway.

“Here,” he said, opening the door for Waylon. “This is one of the guest rooms. There’s an array of clothing for you to choose from in there, so long as you don’t take long.” 

As he gestured into the room, Waylon poked his head in curiosity. His eyes first roamed over the decorated walls and ceiling, then the rest of the room’s furnishings. He walked in slowly, dragging a hand against the plush bedsheets before looking back at Favian, who was still standing in the doorway.

“I’ll be out here when you’re done,” Favian mumbled quickly, closing the door and allowing Waylon to his business.

As he stood outside the room, Favian couldn’t help but let his mind wander to what Waylon’s life could’ve been like leading up to where he was now. How long had that man been selling him for? Where were his parents? Did he have any parents? Who would abuse a fifteen-year-old like that man’s ‘customers’ had?

Favian hadn’t heard the quiet sound of the door opening until Waylon coughed beside him. He quickly turned his attention towards the teenager, finding him with nothing in his hair anymore, and a long, alabaster dress draping down to his ankles and covering the entirety of his arms.

When Favian piqued a brow, Waylon blushed, letting out an awkward chuckle. “I’m just used to wearing them, I guess.”

“Whatever suits you,” said Favian, gesturing for Waylon to follow. “We’ll have dinner now.”

None of the wait staff or chefs seemed to second-glance Waylon as they set out their food. In fact, all of them completed their jobs as fast as ever. Favian was more than pleased; Waylon didn’t seem to know what to do with himself.

“You’re allowed to eat, you know.” Favian commented, gesturing towards Waylon’s plate.

Waylon nodded quickly, one of his hands leaving his lap in favor of reaching for the many pieces of silverware situated beside him. He seemed extremely wary of making the wrong decision, so he chose to pick the largest fork along the row, taking a large scoop of peas and shoving them into his mouth.

Favian had to contain a snort as several peas fell from the fork as the man attempted to get them into his mouth. His next scoop of potatoes was no better; some of the food trailed down his chin as he attempted to eat it all in one bite, glancing quickly towards Favian when he noticed him staring.

“You really need to work on your manners, darling,” Favian said between small scoops of food.

Waylon paused, giving Favian a saddening look before putting his fork down beside him. “I’m sorry…”

“Your highness! I’m sorry to interrupt your dinner, but--” said a new voice, approaching at a fast pace. Favian looked to his left to find his advisor sauntering towards him, his footsteps slowing as his eyes locked onto Waylon’s seat.

He stopped beside Favian’s chair, tilting his head towards Waylon. “Uh… who’s this?”

“He was in trouble while I was out,” Favian blurted quickly. “He’s going to be living here from now on.”

“He…?” the man asked quizzically, looking between Favian and Waylon.

Favian leaned over, whispering quietly enough into his advisor’s ear so Waylon didn’t have to hear his retelling of the night’s events. Once he pulled back, his advisor gave Waylon a hard look of understanding. 

The man turned back to Favian, nodding. “I understand. Well, if you could find the time to visit me later this evening, something urgent has come up.”

Once his advisor retreated, Waylon gave Favian a confused look. “I’m… I’m going to be staying here?”

“Yes,” Favian answered, poking his fork into the duck resting on his plate. “I bought you from that despicable man personally. As of now, the castle is your home.”

“Oh…” Waylon trailed off, staring down at his food.

Favian immediately took note of the distressed look on Waylon’s face. He leaned over further, brows furrowed. “Is something the matter?”

Waylon glanced up, giving him a small smile. “No… no. I’m okay.”

Favian’s hands clenched against the table. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer to the question lingering in his mind, but it was something that needed to be asked.

“How long have you known that man?” he asked first, earning a small grimace from Waylon.

“Um… since I was thirteen.” said Waylon, shuddering. 

Favian’s brow twitched; he would feel better if he had his guards hunt that man down and arrest him. Still, he needed to know more. “Has he been selling you since then?”

Waylon nodded, his bottom lip trembling as he struggled to keep his voice level. “M-my parents couldn’t afford to feed me anymore, so they gave me away to him.”

There wasn’t a single thought left in Favian’s mind other than ordering for the man’s arrest. Hell, he would execute him personally if their guards managed to find him. He was the cause of Waylon’s pain for the two years in between; his death didn’t deserve to be quick.

“I’m sorry to upset you darling,” Favian mumbled, leaning back in his chair. Slowly, he came to a stand, placing his hands flat against the table. “Please, continue eating. I have some things I must attend to; if you can’t find your way back to your room, feel free to ask one of the servants.”

Waylon nodded, and with that, Favian left. He knew if he didn’t find his advisor sooner or later, all hell would break loose within the court.

“Your highness,” the man began breathlessly as soon as Favian walked through the doorway. “The last battalion sent out to Tordisti is requesting your immediate presence, along with more knights. There was an attack…”

“When?” Favian demanded, placing his hands against the table.

“Three days ago, just four miles outside of their kingdom.” the man said, sucking in another long breath. “You’ll need to leave by tomorrow morning in order to arrive in time.”

Favian nodded, “Alright. Have the weapons and supplies ready to go by dawn, and brief the knights tonight.” he ordered, giving his advisor a hard look. “Is that all?”

His advisor seemed apprehensive, rubbing a hand over his forehead, “W-well, there is another thing I wished to discuss, but it’s not of the same matter.” he grumbled, looking away.

Favian rolled his eyes. “Spit it out.”

“W-well, the court was quite distressed when our last king died without a wife or children…” he began, breaking out into a cold sweat.

“Oh heavens above,” Favian groaned. “Not this again…”

“Wait until you hear me out, please,” the man said next, sounding quite distressed. “-He was lucky to have someone like you around. His most decorated knight was the best person he could’ve chose to take the throne.”

Favian crossed his arms over his chest, willing the man to continue. He didn’t want him buttering him up; he wanted him to get to the point. And he did. “So, here’s what I was thinking. The court isn’t going to be pleased when they hear word of a teenage boy loitering around the castle, one that looks like a _woman,_ no less. I thought that we could tell them that he’s a potential love, and we can keep him looking the way he does so the court stays off your back-- at least for the time being.”

Favian paused, thinking. In the end, it didn’t sound like all too bad of an idea. If what Waylon had said about the dresses from earlier had been true, than keeping him looking the way he was wouldn’t be an issue. As for his voice… well, he could be requested to remain silent around everyone but Favian and his advisor.

It… might actually work.

“When he gets older, we could convince the court that you two are married. If children become an issue, well… we can work it out from there. At least until you find a proper wife.” 

Favian had to restrain himself from smacking the man for his final comment. He may have been allowed to know about his immortality, but not a soul in the entire kingdom would ever know the truth about Waylon. _Ever._

That was a secret to be kept only to himself, and Waylon.

“Fine,” Favian grounded out instead, fists clenching and unclenching by his sides. “It’s been decided.”

“Perfect,” his advisor nodded, folding his hands over the table. “That’s all.”

Favian left the room as fast as he possibly could, having to restrain himself from rushing back into the office and decking the other man. He had to remain composed; his fury almost allowed him to run directly into one of the servants.

“Oh! I’m terribly sorry your highness,” the man said instantly, bowing. “I hope I didn’t disturb your thoughts.”

“It’s fine,” said Favian, brushing him off. He looked to the man, scanning him over before speaking again. “There’s a young… _woman,_ who’s been let into the castle. Short, with blonde hair. Have you happened to see… _her_ passing through here?”

The man nodded, pointing up towards the stairs. “She went up to the third floor, over to the guest rooms a little while ago.”

Favian nodded his thanks, immediately starting up the stairs towards the rooms. Once he found the right door, he reached for the handle. It wasn’t until his hand rested over the knob did he pause.

What if Waylon was changing? What if he was dealing with something personal and wanted to be left alone?

Still, Favian couldn’t stop himself from taking a small peek into the room. What he found wasn’t what he had expected.

Waylon laid draped over the bed in the center of the room, clearly sleeping if the soft snores were any indication. All of the candles had been put out, only the hallway light illuminating the teenager’s puny body.

A small smile snaked its way onto Favian’s face, and he made sure he closed the door as quietly as he could before walking up the next flight of stairs towards his own room. He had a busy day coming, after all. Waylon wasn’t the only one who needed rest.

* * *

Favian noticed Waylon had been getting clingier and clingier over the past few weeks.

He’d been in the castle for a little over a year, his sixteenth birthday having passed only a couple months before. He’d gotten livelier and livelier the longer he’d stayed, finally opening up to Favian about different things concerning his past after his first few weeks. He apologized significantly less once he got used to Favian and his attendants, too.

Once Favian had explained the plan about faking Waylon’s womanhood, the teenager hadn’t minded as much as he’d thought he would. At first Favian had thought he’d be upset over having to convert himself again, but instead, he had been met with eagerness and understanding.

Of course, he’d had a lot to learn. How to dress properly, what to wear when. How to eat in a neat and orderly manner, what utensils to use while eating. Who to speak to, and who not to speak to. 

Waylon was allowed to leave the castle as long as he was under supervision, but he never seem to take the opportunity. Usually he’d walk around the gardens or the front gates, but the only time he’d ever left the castle had been with Favian on his sixteenth birthday.

As of late, however, Waylon seemed to cling to Favian more and more often. Sometimes he would pop in and out of his office room while he was working on plans, but he never dared to enter Favian’s chambers. When he had to leave for extended periods of time for whatever reason, Waylon would always rush him with a hug as soon as he got back.

His advisor didn’t seem to mind Waylon’s over-eagerness; the better they faked it, the better the result, right?

The only problem was that Waylon wasn’t faking it. And Favian was finding it harder and harder to fake it himself.

“What’re you doing?” Waylon asked, leaning against the doorframe of his office.

“Just thinking, darling,” Favian huffed, running a hand through his hair. “We’ve been having issues coming to a truce with one of our neighbors.”

“Maybe you need to take a break?” Waylon suggested, entering the room. “I mean, it looks like you might burst if you don’t take some time to relax.”

Favian hummed, choosing to ignore Waylon’s comment in favor of coming up with a potential battle plan. Would there be a battle? How many knights would they need?

Suddenly Favian felt a weight against his lap, and he looked up to find Waylon sitting across his legs. “C’mon, lighten up a little. You need to stop putting yourself under so much stress.”

“I’m a _king,_ Waylon,” Favian huffed, half-heartedly attempting to shove the other man off of him. “I have keep an entire kingdom from falling.”

“Then you can protect it while I’m sitting on your lap,” Waylon smirked, scooting further back against Favian’s chest.

“ _Waylon.”_ Favian hissed, swallowing hard. Waylon had also become keen at making his life hell, in every way possible…

“Alright, alright,” said Waylon, finally scooting off of his lap and back onto his feet. “But you’ll be at dinner, right?”

“Of course,” Favian stammered, looking back at the table in front of him. “Without a doubt.”

“Good,” said Waylon, voice bright and bubbly as he trotted out of the room.

If Favian had to use a word to describe Waylon, it would be _insatiable._

He couldn’t handle it anymore. Between both the soft and devious looks Waylon would shoot him over dinner, he couldn’t help but want to do something for him.

“Would you mind… coming with me?” Favian asked once they were finished, extending his hand for Waylon to take.

It was something he hadn’t done since the day he’d found Waylon at the bar. Waylon seemed struck by the offer at first, but took his hand nonetheless, allowing himself to be guided out of the dining hall and up the stairs.

Favian had no idea what he was doing, thinking it was a good idea to bring Waylon to his chambers. Still, that was where Waylon’s gift was, so he couldn’t bring himself to care all that much as he guided Waylon inside, closing the door.

“Sit here,” Favian said next, gesturing to a long table pressed against the wall opposite his bed. He pulled out a chair, gesturing for Waylon to take a seat.

Waylon nodded quickly, rushing to sit as instructed. Favian could see him trembling as he turned to one of the table’s drawers, telling Waylon to close his eyes as he felt his hands grace over the object he’d been looking for.

Waylon’s eyes closed gently, hands folded over his lap as Favian held the object out for Waylon to touch, “Okay, open your eyes,” he instructed, watching as Waylon’s eyelids fluttered back open.

“Oh, god,” said Waylon, mouth agape as he brushed his fingers over a finely jeweled necklace, “It’s beautiful…” he said, blinking. He continued to blink, before mumbling a soft, “Thank you…”

Favian paused, watching Waylon’s expression as his eyes became glossy and his hand began to shake, “Are you alright, darling…?” he asked, growing concerned.

Waylon wiped his eyes, “I don’t deserve this, Favian,” he sighed, looking up to the other man. “I don’t deserve to be here.”

“Why would you think that?” Favian asked, watching as Waylon’s hand fell from the necklace, back into his lap.

“You’re so kind to me… but I’m worth nothing, Favian. _Nothing._ I was selling myself for people to just… play with and fuck hardly a year ago.” Waylon cried, tears streaming freely down his cheeks as his body wracked with sobs.

Favian frowned, moving behind Waylon to clasp the necklace around his neck. He ran a hand down Waylon’s bare shoulder, moving to lean by his side, “Oh, Waylon. You’re worth _everything,”_ Favian declared, bringing a hand up to wipe the tears away from Waylon’s cheeks.

Through his tears, Favian was glad to see a smile breaking through Waylon’s sadness. He couldn’t help but smile in return, running a hand through Waylon’s long, curly hair.

“Favian…” Waylon began, giving him a firm look as he leaned over the chair. “I have something to tell you--”

Before Waylon could say anything else, Favian had a firm grip on either side of his face, tugging him forward and pressing their lips together.

Waylon didn’t miss a heartbeat. He draped his arms over Favian’s shoulders, allowing him to lead the kiss as they pressed closer together. It was difficult with the chair between them, obstructing the close contact they desired. 

Waylon let out a small yelp as he was yanked out of the chair only to be pulled into Favian’s chest. Favian leaned further down, peppering kisses against Waylon’s jaw before trailing his lips down his neck, tonguing licking across his pulse point.

Favian practically drank in the small noises Waylon made as he pressed him back against the bed, shoving a knee between Waylon’s legs and resuming their previous kissing.

Waylon groaned, hooking one of his legs around Favian’s middle just as the other man pulled away, breathless. They both sucked in short gasps of air, staring into each other’s eyes.

“I don’t want to cause you any pain, Waylon.” Favian panted, tracing his hand over Waylon’s hip.

“Don’t worry,” said Waylon, a small, shy smile creeping onto his face. “I only want to be with _you.”_

Favian couldn’t agree more.

* * *

“Is everyone prepared to leave?” Favian asked, looking between the knights lined up and ready for battle.

Favian felt a hand brush against his arm, turning to find Waylon staring up at him with sad eyes. He couldn’t say anything, but that didn’t stop him from conveying his emotions through the look on his face.

“Don’t worry darling,” said Favian, brushing a hand against Waylon’s cheek. “I’ll be back soon enough. You’ll be safe; just stay within the castle walls.”

Waylon nodded, pressing a quick kiss to Favian’s lips before retreating with the servants waiting by the door. Favian kept his eyes locked onto Waylon until he was gone from sight, a small sigh escaping his lips.

Favian knew Waylon’s time would be soon. They’d been doing so good so far, and he’d even gotten a ring for him to propose with as soon as he returned from their battle. If they hadn’t had to leave in such a hurry, he would’ve already done it.

Waylon still had a fondness to the castle, so as soon as his twenty-third birthday hit, Favian hadn’t been too concerned about being on Waylon’s guard as often as he’d used to be. Still, he made sure that Waylon almost always had an escort with him, just in case something were to arise.

As long as he made it to twenty-four, they could finally be happy.

He couldn’t bring himself to tell Waylon about any of it; not now, while he was so happy. He still had no idea that Favian was immortal, or that he was always reborn every twenty-three years without fail. He just couldn’t do it.

“Lets ride,” Favian commanded, and they were off.

* * *

Bodies lined up against the halls. Everyone in sight, dead.

Blood dripping from swords and daggers, unrelenting. No one could be left alive. No one; it was too risky.

If only he’d heard it coming. But it wasn’t until a dagger was embedded in his palm did he understand what was happening.

“Where’s the king?!” The silhouette of a man demanded, driving the dagger further into Waylon’s palm. 

Waylon cried out, shifting over the bed and praying for the pain to stop. He was lying over the king’s bed; but the king wasn’t there.

Men had seized the castle in the dead of night with the goal of assassinating the king. It would be the perfect time to catching him off-guard, slumbering, to slit his throat in his own bed. But instead of the king, they’d found Waylon. And they wanted answers.

Instead of answering Waylon kicked his legs up, shoving the silhouette off of him. He cried out, reaching for the dagger that had been left behind before yanking it out of his hand. He held the bleeding wound, immediately tossing himself out of bed and into the hall.

Waylon breathed heavily, looking between the two escape routes. He immediately spotted a servant keeled over the railing, breath hitching as he let out a terrified sob. The stairs seemed like the best option for escape; so that was where he headed.

“Get back here!” A man screamed behind him, but Waylon didn’t listen. He stumbled on his feet as blood dripped over his hands and onto the floor. He was still riddled in a sleepy haze, and he ended up slipping on the third step down, falling down the rest of the way to the third floor balcony.

Waylon sobbed harder, forcing himself to crawl on his hands and knees even when he heard footsteps approach. Even when he felt someone tugging his hair back, sharp daggers of pain shooting through his scalp.

Even when he felt the sharp pain of a sword slicing his chest open.

* * *

“I’m… I’m so sorry, your highness.”

Favian seethed through clenched teeth, blinking away the tears as he slammed his fists down onto the table. “Where. Were the guards.”

The woman gulped. “They were slaughtered at their posts both inside and outside, sir. These men… they put up a good fight, but reinforcements managed to track them down to the cellars. They came while most of us were asleep--”

 _“They should’ve been protecting him!”_ Favian screamed, flipping the table over on its side.

Every person in the room looked up at that, wide eyes trained on Favian’s rage. He didn’t stop there, “You should’ve been watching him, you should’ve done _something_ other than sitting around on your asses and letting him _die!”_ he roared, starting to back out of the room.

“We didn’t find a body, your highness…” 

Favian chuckled humorlessly, glaring darkly at everyone in the room, “And there wouldn’t _be_ a body.” He said, slamming the doors shut behind him.

Favian immediately stormed down the hall, up the stairs and into his room. He began grabbing various items off of tables and desks, tossing them onto the bed. Once he assured himself he had enough money, clothes, and other various tools, he wrapped them all up in a bundle, tossing them over his shoulder.

That was when he turned his head up to see his advisor standing in the doorway, his hands folded behind his back.

“I’m leaving,” Favian said as firmly as he could, pushing the man out of his way as he headed out the door.

“You don’t have to do this,” the man shot back, trailing after him. 

“Yes, I do,” Favian hissed, beginning his descent down the stairs. “I gave myself away. I failed to protect my people. I’m dishonorable.”

“We can fix all of that!” his advisor shouted, stopping him halfway down the stairs to place a hand on his shoulder. “We can cover it up, we can start new, you can find someone else, someone _real_ for you--”

“There is no one else,” said Favian, shaking his head. “And he _was_ real.”

That was when the man finally retracted his grip, mouth agape. Favian couldn’t bring himself to say any more, _give away_ any more as he continued out of the castle, unsure of where he would go. 

All he knew was after Waylon came into his life during his rule, it would finally become his time to surrender the throne.

* * *

“Alright everyone, lets get this over with. Take these three to the executioners stone,” a guard said, voice sounding tired and bored as he whisked his hand at three prisoners sitting on their knees beside him.

Favian watched as they were dragged away, and he couldn’t bring himself to feel any sympathy for them. He couldn’t bring himself to feel much of anything, if the last month and a half of surviving hadn’t done him enough. It was for the best, however; he’d known even if he hadn’t slipped up, he would’ve had to disappear sooner or later when Waylon came. Otherwise, people would’ve found out who he really was. Who they both were.

The guard clicked his tongue, glancing towards Favian next, “As for this one…” He narrowed his eyes, looking to his colleague. “What’s he here for, again?”

“We found him wandering in from one of the neighboring kingdoms, I think.” the man replied, scratching his head. “He tried stealing a horse.”

The guard glanced down at him once more, piquing a brow. “What’s your name, son?”

Favian coughed, throwing the man a cold glare. “Favian… Godfrey…”

“…Alright, Godfrey.” said the man, a small smirk snaking its way onto his face as he knelt down in front of him. “Which hand do you like the most?”

Favian remained silent, but continued to glare. 

Once the guard realized there would be no response, he sighed, climbing back onto his feet, “Just take off his hand then. I’m already sick of being here.” he grumbled, gesturing towards Favian.

“Which hand?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Favian didn’t care what they did to him. He couldn’t; they’d taken away everything he’d brought with him, but still, he didn’t care.

As long as the three rings he’d brought along with him stayed in his pocket, they could do whatever they wanted to him.

At least he’d still have Waylon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paced a little fast.
> 
> [Eddie and Waylon](http://peachycans.tumblr.com/post/164069424943/into-the-night-flashback-1-the-medieval-period/).


	8. Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie finally reveals his past to Waylon... for the most part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexual content ahead.

The damning day had, to Eddie’s dismay, come fast.

“Just calm down, take a deep breath,” Chris consoled through the car’s built-in speaker phone.

If anything, the poor attempt at making Eddie feel better only made him want to lash out that much more. He didn’t want to have to think about what the day entailed; he didn’t want to have to think about anything at all. It was a day he’d wished would never come.

His breath hitched up as Dennis chirped into the conversation. “Chris, that’s probably the last thing he wants to hear right now.”

Eddie was tempted to drop the call altogether. Why had he thought he would gain anything useful by speaking to the guys? When it came to his curse, they would be anything but useful. Chris, maybe. Dennis, no. 

But they were the only ones that knew.

“Look just, try to enjoy the day at least? You can figure out what you’re gonna do later, but right now you have a party to attend.” Dennis continued, releasing a long, heavy sigh from the other end of the line. “Waylon will be fine, Ed.”

Eddie growled under his breath, pressing that much harder onto the gas pedal, “Have you ever had to watch your only love strung up against the front of a church, bleeding out from a hole one of the devout carved into their stomach?” he spat, clutching the steering wheel tightly.

“Eddie, that’s--”

“Have you ever walked into town and found an executioner cleaning up the mess left over after that same love’s head was severed by a guillotine? Have you ever had to cradle them as they died from six gunshot wounds from a man that wanted the money he was owed? Have you had to come home to them dead on the floor with no explanation as to how they died, and finding that over twenty-three years later they had grown up all over again? And they don’t even recognize you when you call out to them, hoping you’re not hallucinating--?”

“ _Eddie,”_ Chris snapped, jutting back into the call. “No, we don’t know how it feels. But think about Waylon, healthy and alive. He’ll _live_ Eddie, I can feel it.”

Eddie scoffed. “ _You_ haven’t been repeating the same cycle over and over again for the last two millenniums.”

After that, the line went silent. When he received no further input, Eddie added, “…You don’t know what it was like for me, when suddenly I stopped aging without an explanation. When I thought I’d be like this forever, without Waylon in my life. Honestly, I’m not sure which I’d prefer at this point.”

“Don’t say that. You don’t mean it.” said Chris.

“I think I’m done with this conversation. I don’t know what I expected to gain from it,” Eddie sighed hopelessly, and with that, he ended the call.

The wet prickle of oncoming tears burned the corners of Eddie’s eyes, but he forced himself to hold them back. He couldn’t walk into Waylon’s house looking flushed, fresh tear stains clear as day running down his cheeks. He was better than that.

Over the thousands of years he’d had to practice, Eddie had mastered the art of holding his tears. Way back when, when things had been different, he couldn’t have stopped the flood even if he’d tried.

When Waylon had died for the first time in history, he’d…

Eddie shook his head, glancing over to the passenger seat of the car. In it sat a rich, red-colored box with a thin card placed atop it, Waylon’s name written in cursive writing over the envelope.

Just as Eddie pulled onto the road in which Waylon lived, he saw a small yellow happy-face balloon tied onto one of the mailboxes. He parked along the sidewalk beside two other cars, grabbing the box before making his way towards the front steps of the house.

As he passed the strange balloon, Eddie couldn’t stifle the loud snort from his nose upon seeing the sharpie-made eyebrows sketched over the eyes coupled with blushing cheeks and what he assumed was drool hanging out of the balloon-character’s mouth. It was almost scandalous, but Eddie couldn’t bring himself to be concerned about the neighborhood’s thoughts.

Before Eddie could even raise a hand to knock on the door it swung open, revealing a man with long, dark brown hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. Eddie raised his brows, watching as the man’s face slowly turned from a look of surprise into one of mischief.

The man grinned from ear-to-ear as he scanned Eddie up and down, glancing over his shoulder, “Waaaaaaay! Your boyfriend’s here!” he shouted, moving away from doorway to allow Eddie to enter.

Eddie carefully stepped past the entryway, watching the man as he plopped down onto a small couch positioned near the door. Next to him sat the same woman who’d accompanied Waylon to his shop all those weeks ago. Several footsteps padded down the hall to his left before Waylon poked his head out; just the sight of him alone was enough to release the previous tension in Eddie’s shoulders.

Waylon was quick to envelope Eddie in a hug, but not before placing a quick peck to his lips. Eddie quickly maneuvered the box into one hand as he awkwardly returned the hug, “Happy birthday, darling.” he said, rubbing his hand up and down Waylon’s back.

“I’ll take those for ya!” a voice suddenly chirped in to his right, Lisa’s voice. Eddie watched carefully as she plucked the box from his hand, grinning up at him. “I’ll add ‘em to the little pile we’ve got going on in the corner.”

“Oh! Yeah,” Waylon laughed nervously, pulling away from Eddie before gesturing between all of the people gathered in the small living room, “Eddie, you probably remember Lisa, and this is Miles,” he said, tossing his hand towards Miles. “Miles, Eddie.”

“Sup?” Miles asked, waving a hand lazily before letting it plop back down onto the couch.

“Okay boys,” said Lisa, moving back into the main room. “I thought that we could eat first, do you guys wanna have the cake first, or presents--?”

“CAKE!” Miles shouted before Lisa could finish, slamming his fist onto the arm of the couch. He stood up, looking back at Eddie before pointing towards the kitchen. “Hope you’re not allergic to peanut butter, because I made a really shitty peanut butter and chocolate cake.”

“I’m not.” Eddie stated gruffly, unsure of what he should be doing, or who he should be talking to other than Waylon.

“He puts peanut butter on his pancakes,” said Waylon, voice lowering. “It’s really weird.”

Miles practically choked, looking first to Waylon, then to Eddie. “Fuck you Waylon, that sounds delicious.”

It didn’t take long for everyone to situate themselves at the small table in Waylon’s kitchen. Lisa pulled out a large bowl of spaghetti and meatballs, placing it down onto the center of the table before telling everybody to dig in.

As awkward as their initial introduction had been, Eddie warmed up to Miles and Lisa rather quickly, and they seemed to do the same. They asked him all kinds of questions, but not the kind he was used to getting from Dennis, Chris, and sometimes Frank. They were small, easy questions about his travels, his work; things that normal people would talk about.

“How long have you been into tailoring, or whatever you wanna call it?” Miles asked casually, leaning back in his chair.

Eddie poked at one of his meatballs, a small smile sneaking onto his face. “I’ve… well, I’ve been in the business for as long as I remember. It’s not the only job I’ve ever done, but it’s the one I like the most.”

“What else have you done?” Lisa asked curiously, folding her arms over the table.

Eddie decided to choose his words carefully, picking the first two occupations that popped into his head. “I used to work in construction, until I moved on to the military.”

He glanced over to Waylon to find both of his brows raised. He hadn’t told Waylon about his time in the marines; only his careers in construction and tailoring. He hadn’t had the heart to even begin telling him about all of the other people he’d worked for throughout his life. That was something to be saved for another, later time.

They contented themselves with eating Lisa’s spaghetti until they were almost full. Once everyone’s plates were empty Miles shot up, running across the rooms to turn off the lights. They sang the traditional American happy birthday tune with Miles shouting “Cha-cha-cha!” between every break. In the end, they all dissolved into quiet laughter as Waylon blew out the candles.

After the cake came Waylon’s presents.

“I go first since I’ve known you the longest and you love me the most,” Miles piped in first, thrusting a tall, poorly-wrapped box in front of Waylon along with a small, handwritten card latched onto the side with a piece of see-through tape.

“’I’m only here for the cake. Happy birthday,’” Waylon read off, letting out a small chuckle. He began tearing the wrapping paper off of the box, smirking. “Oh boy, I wonder what this could be…”

Waylon opened the box as soon as all of the wrapping was discarded, pulling out a large bottle of wine. He glanced down at the label with a smile, then back to Miles. “Thanks, Miles.”

“I was gonna get you a packet of beef jerky too, but I didn’t wanna have to go to two different stores to get it.” Miles admitted, shrugging.

“This one’s from me,” said Lisa next, giving Waylon a small smile as she handed over a bag stuffed full of tissue paper.

Waylon soon discovered the three books that had been stowed away inside. Waylon inspected the back covers, giving Lisa a warm smile. “They look great, Lis. Right on time too, I just finished the last few.”

“Aw, you’re welcome, Way.”

“What’d you bring big guy?” Miles chuckled, reaching over to nudge Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie was about to stand and grab his present but Lisa beat him to it, having seated herself right beside the pile of gifts. She placed it over Waylon’s lap, giving Eddie a sympathetic smile before plopping back down into her chair.

Waylon grinned at Eddie before plucking the envelope off of the top. Eddie hadn’t done much with the card; he’d picked out one of the cheesy, romantic birthday cards from Walmart. Inside he’d written a quick ‘Happy birthday, darling’, and a smaller, ‘Come home with me? I want to give you the rest of your gift,’ at the bottom.

Eddie was more than pleased with himself as he watched the blush growing over Waylon’s cheeks, eyes scanning over the text on the inside of the card. He glanced back up at him, and the look on Eddie’s face more than enough to confirm his suspicions as to what the rest of his present might be.

Waylon placed the card aside, gently peeling the lid off of the top of the box. Inside were chocolates; Eddie had decided if he was going to be cheesy, he might as well go all the way. Along with the candy was a smaller, rectangular-shaped box.

“Eddie, this is so cheesy, I love it,” Waylon laughed, reaching in and grabbing the smaller box. He shook it a few times, hearing the small jangle of multiple objects inside of it. Confusion slowly clouded over his features as he opened it, peeling the tissue paper away.

Miles and Lisa seemed to watch in careful anticipation as Waylon stared down into the box, eyes widening.

“R-rings…?” Waylon asked curiously, pulling out the first of four rings placed ever-so delicately inside.

The first one he pulled out was fairly lame; it was only a simple band with several streaks carved into it, gleaming against the lamp light nearby. The second however had a little more flare to it, crafted into a thin band with six rubies framing a diamond in the center, three to each side.

The last two were more elaborate. The third ring’s band was less of a band-- it was more like small, silver vines weaved together by careful craftsmanship into two leaves protruding from either side of a small diamond at the center. The leaves had small green streaks painted into them, the color obviously faded and chipping away.

The last one was the most important ring of all. It was a long ring that took the form of a snake made of silver. It had been designed to curl around the finger that wore it, wrapping from the base of the finger up to the first knuckle. Around the snake’s body were several roses of the same material, and blue gemstones embedded into the snake’s body.

Waylon scanned over the last of the rings the longest, running a finger over the gemstones. “It’s… they’re _beautiful_ , Eddie…”

Eddie felt a wave of hard emotion wash over him as Waylon slipped the final piece onto his ring finger, and of course, it fit like a glove. Waylon continued to stare down at it, his smile bright enough to light up even the darkest corner of the universe. He carefully placed the other three rings on his other fingers, all made exclusively for Waylon.

“Woah,” said Lisa, leaning over to inspect the rings on Waylon’s fingers. “This is some craftsmanship right here. Where’d you get them?”

Eddie paused, glancing to Lisa. He frowned, mulling the question over before finally replying. “They all came from… different places.”

“Did you pick them up while you were traveling or somethin’?” Miles asked next, eyes narrowing.

Eddie leaned back into the couch, crossing his arms over his chest. “I suppose you could say that.”

“Well, I love them,” Waylon grinned, holding up his ring-covered fingers. “Thank you Eddie, they’re _beautiful.”_

Somehow Lisa seemed to sense the unease in Eddie’s posture, if the look she gave him said enough. She stood up from the couch, grabbing the tissue and wrapping paper off of the floor around her. “Whelp, I think I better go home and hit the hay. I’ve got a long day of work ahead of me tomorrow. I swear, I haven’t had a Sunday off since I started working as a teenager.”

“I guess people aren’t gonna stalk themselves,” said Miles next, patting the pockets of his jeans. “Happy birthday Waylon, the cake was delicious.”

“You _made it.”_ Waylon pointed out, frowning.

“Oh, I know. ‘S why it was good,” Miles grinned, immediately making a beeline for the front door.

“You were just calling it shitty an hour ago!”

Waylon’s response was the sound of the door slamming shut. Eddie shook his head, letting out a small sigh as he moved to help Lisa by picking up the empty boxes off of the coffee table.

As soon as they were done and all the garbage was in their respectable trash containers, Lisa grabbed her keys off of the counter, looking between the two men before smiling. “Have a fun night, guys. I’ll talk to you when I get off work tomorrow Way, once again, happy birthday!”

“Thanks, Lisa.” said Waylon, and with one last wave, she was gone as well.

As soon as the door clicked shut Eddie felt a weight against his side. He looked down with a grin to find Waylon staring up at him mischievously, arms wrapping themselves around Eddie’s torso. “So, what were you saying about the rest of my birthday present…?”

Eddie had to restrain himself from pulling Waylon into a hard, frantic kiss as he guided him out of the house. Waylon locked the door behind him in an instant, and then they were in Eddie’s car, headed home.

Eddie felt himself growing more and more nervous by the second the closer they approached their final destination for the night. He began questioning himself, wondering if the decision he’d made earlier in the day was too late to take back.

_‘Maybe I shouldn’t…’_

_‘You have to.’_

_‘What if--‘_

_‘You need to do this.’_

Everything happened in an instant. They got out of the car, made their way inside, and Waylon’s lips immediately found their way onto his own.

Eddie brought his hands down to rub over Waylon’s waist, pulling him closer as they deepened the kiss. He almost forgot what he’d meant to do, all the things he’d meant to say as the warmth between them grew hotter and hotter. It was the feel of cold metal gliding over his cheek from Waylon’s rings that brought him back to reality.

Much to Waylon’s distress, Eddie peeled himself away, re-adjusting his dress shirt. Before Waylon could begin to question him, Eddie cleared his throat, taking Waylon’s hands into his own. “Patience, darling. There’s… more to your gift than just this.”

Waylon piqued a brow in interest, but nodded nonetheless. Eddie breathed in and out slowly, rubbing his thumbs over the back of Waylon’s hand, “I’ll need you to close your eyes first,” Eddie requested.

Waylon’s eyes fluttered shut almost instantly, hands clenching in Eddie’s hold. Slowly, Eddie guided him towards the back of the house, over to the basement door. He pried it open, looking back at Waylon. “There are stairs here, darling. You’ll have to be careful coming down.”

As soon Waylon nodded in understanding Eddie helped him onto the first step, and Waylon took it from there. They made their way into the basement rather clumsily; Waylon nearly tripped over the last step as they were absorbed into the darkness below.

“Okay,” said Eddie, moving towards the light switch nearby. “You can open your eyes.”

Just as the dim lights flickered on Waylon’s eyes opened, surveying the room he’d been brought into. Immediately his eyes widened, and Eddie started happily at the look on Waylon’s face as he took in everything that stood before him.

“What… what is this stuff…” Waylon asked, his voice barely a whisper as he moved forward towards a large, full set of black armor.

Eddie chose to say nothing instead of answering his question right away. He got enough enjoyment out of simply watching Waylon as he ran two fingers down the glimmering sword at the armored knight’s feet. He quickly moved to the next closest object; an elaborate, hand-carved candelabra.

As Waylon walked around the room, Eddie felt his shoudlers sagging, past memories flooding back as Waylon plopped himself onto the withered throne across the room. Eddie straightened his posture, gesturing towards the large chair. “The castle was in ruins by the time I’d come back to it. That was still intact, thankfully, and my old armor was still where I’d left it down in the bunker. Not sure how no one wanted to move it for all of those years…”

“Wha…?” Waylon blabbed, looking between the black suit of armor and Eddie. “Y-you mean, it’s _yours…?”_

Eddie nodded.

Waylon couldn’t seem to look any more shocked than he already was. “H-how…?”

“Well,” Eddie chuckled, cracking his neck. “Typically, to be given a suit of that rank, you had to be knighted by the king. Museums can’t acquire them the traditional way-- I, however, did.”

“I’m confused,” said Waylon, brows furrowing. “You… you’ve lost me.”

Eddie gestured Waylon over, the latter obeying instantly. He watched as Eddie pulled a large, leather-bound book off of a nearby stool. He then plopped down onto a klinai sitting beside him, Waylon following his lead.

The leather was horribly worn, but Eddie had never wanted to get a new one, or have it fixed. it carried too many memories, having been purchased when he’d been nothing more than a fifteen year-old boy on his way to becoming a professional artist and cloth-maker.

Eddie flipped the cover open to the first page, pushing it gently into Waylon’s lap.

Waylon gripped the edges of the book tightly, his eyes scanning over the detailed painting presented. The picture itself still easily visible despite the many scratches and chips against the surface it’d been created over.

The picture was of a young man with long blonde hair flowing down his face, a loose braid running down over his shoulder and onto the klinai he’d draped himself over. A long red cloth appeared to have been placed carefully over the man’s body, covering half on his chest before draping neatly over his abdomen.

The man’s facial structure-- his eyes, his nose, his jaw-- everything matched Waylon perfectly.

“I…” Was all Waylon could say before Eddie flipped the page, beginning the slow process of showing off the smaller charcoal sketches that followed.

Eddie noticed Waylon cover his mouth with a hand out of the corner of his eye as he continued to flip the pages, the drawings getting more and more detailed and colorful. After the first painting, most of the portraits had been made in black and white. As Eddie moved forward, they turned back into paintings once more, of course, none of them as large and intricate as the first.

Every single picture in the booklet was Waylon, but different. It was mostly the hair and his expressions that differed but nonetheless, it was easy to detect the theme.

Waylon seemed stuck on his words as Eddie skimmed over several rows of pictures to come to the backmost pages. From there they turned into colorless photographs. The first few were of Waylon alone, frowning in all of them. Then, they began to grow brighter, and less dingy in the brownish light.

One in particular was of Waylon sitting on the back of a horse, smiling widely while another person stood beside him, a small smile on their lips. Their hair was obviously dark through the black and white lens, falling lazily over their eyes and a country-like hat positioned atop their head.

Eddie watched as one of Waylon’s trembling fingers pointed to the other man in the photograph. “I-is, is that you?”

Eddie nodded, flipping to the next page before moving onto another photo. He quickly pointed to one in the top corner of the page. “This one was always my favorite.”

In the picture was Waylon alone, sitting on a small red couch. He wore a white pinstripe dress shirt tucked into black slacks, suspenders pulled taut over his shoulders and a small black bowtie completing the look. The picture had obviously been taken professionally, a small date scribbled on the white trim around the bottom reading ‘10/31/68’.

“I’m so confused, Eddie,” Waylon finally breathed, bringing a hand up to his forehead. “Why do you have all of this stuff? Why do you have all of these pictures of _me?”_

“Waylon,” said Eddie, closing the book before once again taking Waylon’s hands into his own. “What I’m about to tell you is something you absolutely need to know about me.”

Waylon visibly gulped, finally managing to look Eddie in the eye. “…When is your birthday, Eddie?”

Eddie frowned. “The twenty-ninth of October.”

“No,” said Waylon, shaking his head. “What _year.”_

Eddie said nothing.

Waylon’s eyes grew glossy, but by how hard he was holding Eddie’s hands, the last thought on his mind seemed to be letting go. “You’re not forty-six, are you?”

Eddie pursed his lips. “I… I was forty-six when I… when I stopped aging.”

Waylon’s hands clenched his own even tighter, “When is your birthday, Eddie.” he asked-- no, _demanded._

“The twenty-ninth of October…” Eddie repeated again, closing his eyes before taking a deep breath. “…five-hundred nineteen, BCE.”

That finally made Waylon retract his hands. “So you’re… you’re…”

“Two-thousand, five-hundred, and thirty-six years old.” Eddie finished for him, waiting for Waylon’s final reaction.

Eddie waited, but received no response. He gestured to the notebook once again as Waylon remained silent. “I have lived all of those years with you, Waylon. Every time you… pass on, you’re born again. Every single time you’re brought back into this world, you always find me. And I always find you.”

After a few more seconds of silence Waylon looked up, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “It’s… it’s all so much to take in at once.”

“I know,” said Eddie, placing a gentle hand over Waylon’s shoulder. “But you had to know. I had to tell you.”

“Miles,” said Waylon, a small chuckle breaking through his tears. “Miles tried to research you, but he couldn’t find anything past the last twenty years. I guess that clears a few things up…”

Suddenly, Waylon began to laugh, hard. Eddie lowered his brows, confused as to why Waylon could possibly want to laugh until Waylon looked back up, smiling. “And here I thought you’d been lying about how long you’ve lived here, lived in Australia, because things weren’t going to work out. I guess you did it for a reason, huh? I was about to ask you about that tonight, too…”

A small smile crept onto Eddie features. “I suppose you would’ve found out one way or another.”

Waylon let out another loud laugh, burying his face into Eddie’s shoulder before wrapping his arms around him. Eddie returned the embrace, glad that he had Waylon back again… well, almost. 

But Eddie relished in the moment nonetheless. He barely caught the last vibrations of Waylon mumbling into his shoulder.

“Hm?” Eddie hummed, rubbing Waylon’s back.

Waylon lifted his face up in favor of resting on his chin instead, “I asked, is that why you have all these scars?” he asked, prodding Eddie’s cheek

He nodded.

“What about this one?” said Waylon next, re-adjusting himself to hold Eddie’s wrist in his hands. He traced the outline of a scar circling his wrist. “Did someone just decide to make a cut around your hand or something?”

“Oh, no,” said Eddie, shaking his head. “I got caught trying to steal a horse around the twelfth century. They cut my hand off as punishment.”

Suddenly Waylon jolted off of Eddie’s shoulder, eyes wide. “And it grew _back?!”_

“About a year later, yes.” Eddie shrugged.

That was when Eddie reached for the hand Waylon had placed his rings onto, holding them up for viewing, “These rings,” said Eddie, tapping each metallic band. “Are from the four times I’d planned to marry you in the past.”

Waylon sucked in a breath. “We… we were never married?”

Eddie shook his head. “Not once.”

The saddened look over Waylon’s face was almost too much to handle. Eddie felt his heart wrench painfully as Waylon buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking violently.

“Darling…?” Eddie tried, reaching forward. He cupped Waylon’s cheek, causing the other man to lower his hands and lean into the touch. Eddie frowned. “Please, don’t cry.”

Waylon let out another small chuckle, followed by a few more sniffles before he wiped the remaining tears from his face. Once he seemed certain that he was done crying, he scooted forward, pressing his lips gently against Eddie’s.

They sat there just like that for what seemed like a whole other eternity, wrapped in each other’s arms. Waylon was the first to part them, the tears from before back and running freely down his cheeks, “It’s just all so overwhelming,” he breathed, leaning in to capture Eddie’s lips once more. 

Eddie was quick to run his hands down over Waylon’s hips and the fabric of his jeans, yanking him closer. Waylon let out a soft whine as Eddie moved to kiss the corner of his mouth, trailing his lips across his jawline and down his neck.

“Would you like the rest of your gift now, Waylon?” Eddie growled huskily into his neck, nipping at the skin as softly as he could before sinking his teeth in and biting, hard.

“Fuck yes, please,” Waylon practically begged, shifting in Eddie’s lap. As soon as the words were out in the open Eddie pushed him back against the klinai, making quick work of wedging himself between Waylon’s legs.

Eddie savored the breathy moans from Waylon as he held him down by his wrists, continuing his previous task of working his way down Waylon’s neck, taking his sweet time with each patch of skin as he ground their hips together.

“G-god…” Waylon practically choked, fists clenching and unclenching as a ragged sigh broke from his lips.

Eddie chuckled against Waylon’s collarbone, propping himself up to take in his flushed expression. Cheeks red, the tear stains from minutes before still visible…

Slowly, Eddie leaned down, pressing his lips against Waylon’s cheek where one of the trails ended. As Eddie kissed across his face, he released Waylon’s wrists in favor of trailing his hands lower. He reached down, working the zipper of Waylon’s jeans open until he was able to yank them off with little to no issue.

Waylon followed suit, tugging at the fabric of Eddie’s shirt until most of the buttons were undone. It took much longer than it should’ve due to their close proximity, but Eddie didn’t want things to end too quickly. He wasn’t going to make things easy for Waylon tonight.

Eddie panted heavily, leaning over to whisper into Waylon’s ear. “I’ve had my way with you before, right here. I remember all of it-- how you squirmed and _begged_ for me to come inside of you…”

That earned a loud moan from Waylon, his hands coming to clutch Eddie’s back. Eddie palmed at Waylon’s growing erection through the fabric of his boxers, earning a few small keens from the smaller man in return. He grinned, nipping softly at the lobe of Waylon’s ear.

“Of course, an artist has to stay professional when making a masterpiece. But oh, how I longed to feel you all of those years ago, draped across this very klinai. You made it hard for me to restrain myself.” Eddie continued, his hand slipping beneath the fabric of Waylon’s shirt to rub up and down his abdomen.

“Touch me, _please,”_ Waylon cried, knees coming to rest beside Eddie’s hips.

Eddie grinned widely, finally moving past Waylon’s boxers before taking hold of his stiffening cock. “Should I tell you about that night, Waylon? Do you want to hear about everything we did, every _filthy_ detail?”

“Yes,” Waylon shuddered, curling into Eddie’s hold. “I want… I want to… t-to know what happened…”

Eddie began a slow and steady pace of working Waylon’s cock, leaning over until his hot breath ghosted over his ear, “It was high summer, and you’d been absolutely _flushed_ by the time I was done painting. It seemed so... _wrong_ to want to defile such a beautiful canvas so soon.”

Waylon shook like a leaf beneath Eddie as he continued, licking his lips, “But you, my precious little minx, you just couldn’t keep your hands to yourself. And with you looking the way you did, nothing but a loose cloth draped over the place I knew you wanted me the most,” he said, accentuating the statement by quickening his pace over Waylon’s cock. “It wasn’t until you kissed me and told me to take you did I lose any willpower I had left.”

He grunted, watching Waylon’s beautiful face as his half-lidded eyes squeezed shut, mouth falling open. Eddie licked a hot stripe up Waylon’s neck, grinding his hips down onto his once more as he began to work Waylon faster and faster.

“It was on this same klinai that I had you for the first time, a virgin, completely free for the taking. You blossomed for me like a beautiful flower darling, and I couldn’t let you go.” Eddie whispered, kissing Waylon hard.

Their lips parted with a thick wet sound, bodies moving together as Waylon dropped his head back. “Eddie, I’m gonna come if keep talking like that…”

“Good,” said Eddie, relishing in the small noise that reverberated from Waylon’s throat. “Come. It won’t be the last time tonight.”

Waylon let out a broken cry, and soon enough Eddie felt the sticky wetness of Waylon’s come coating the palm of his hand. He breathed heavily, pressing his forehead against Waylon’s as he tried to drag his orgasm out.

“God, I sound like a slut,” Waylon chuckled, shoulders relaxing back against the soft cushion of the klinai.

“Even if you were,” Eddie breathed, using his free hand to brush a sweat-sodden lock of hair out of Waylon’s face. “You were _my_ slut.”

Waylon paused, an unreadable expression painting his features as he brought his hands up to cup either side of Eddie’s face. “I love you, Eddie.”

Eddie stared down at Waylon, eyes widening for a moment before he let out a content sigh, leaning down to press a firm kiss to Waylon’s lips. It felt so good to just lie there in each other’s arms-- so _natural._

Eddie sighed, icy-blue eyes boring into chocolate brown, “And I love you, Waylon,” he mumbled quietly, carding his fingers through the hair that framed Waylon’s face. “Just remember that I’ll always love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is another flashback, per the usual. It's very important to the plot, but it will have some warnings ahead of it. I'll update the tags next week.


	9. Flashback - The Renaissance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There is no greater sorrow than to be mindful of the happy time in misery.”  
>  _-Dante Alighieri_
> 
> **1412 AD**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Explicit sexual content, abuse, non-con, and dubious consent.

“Rowland, _please-!”_

“This is for your own good, Waylon.”

“Please, I don’t understand! Tell me why you’re doing this!”

“You’ll never understand, you little _slut.”_

Rowland ignored Waylon’s pitiful cries of anguish as he dragged him down the stairwell and into the wet hallway of the basement below. A tuft of the man’s blonde hair had been clutched into his fist, teeth clenched as he threw open one of the few cell doors before tossing Waylon inside and locking is firmly behind him.

Waylon immediately went to clutch at his sensitive scalp, breath ragged and hard as he crawled over towards the bars. As soon as Rowland felt the grace of Waylon’s fingers against his own he retracted his hand from the lock, a blatant sound of disgust tearing its way from his throat.

“Please…” Waylon begged once more, coming to a stand on the other side of the bars. He was crying, his legs shaking and bottom lip trembling. “Please don’t do this…”

After giving Waylon a once over Rowland huffed, reaching through the bars in order to cup Waylon’s cheek. “It’s only for a year, darling. You may come out on the dawn of your next birthday.”

Waylon cried harder at that, but nonetheless nuzzled his cheek into Rowland’s hand. Rowland was almost disgusted by the fact that Waylon was still so eager and willing to show him affection even after he’d attacked him like he had-- but that small, weak part of his heart was still willing to forgive.

He could barely look at Waylon sniveling like a child anymore. It really was supposed to be for his own good, his wellbeing, his protection. But telling Waylon about his current predicament was out of the question, and Rowland didn’t want to have to deal with constant questions and pleas he would surely receive from the other man.

Rowland tested the lock by yanking on it three times, pleased to find that it was firmly latched into place. Without another word he turned from Waylon, closing the wooden door behind him before marching back up the stairs and into the main floor of the house.

It was a simple plan, really. He’d finally come to his senses, finally realized that he’d been too soft on Waylon throughout his previous lives. He couldn’t trust Waylon to his own protection, or anyone else’s. He felt like a fool for having not realized it sooner.

If Waylon was kept hidden away from the world, free from any harm or destruction, how could he _not_ survive? It was foolproof; Rowland knew what he was doing, and by god was he going to do it.

His visits with Waylon had to be kept to a minimum. He would have to bring him food and water of course, but he couldn’t risk seeing him as much as he’d used to for the fear of his discovery. The underground bunker was well-hidden, but if a villager were to come visit while Rowland was trying to see him, it would only lead to trouble.

Of course, he still loved Waylon. God himself wouldn’t be able to understand how deep his love for the other man went. But seeing Waylon now, at the turning point of his life, the point in which he could die at any moment, forced Rowland to bury those thoughts as deeply as he could.

It was all to keep Waylon safe.

And so, the days passed by slowly. Slower than Rowland would’ve liked; sometimes he could hear Waylon calling for him faintly through the floorboards, but he tried his best to ignore him. It didn’t hurt as much as he’d once thought parting from him would. A few weeks into Waylon’s imprisonment, Rowland couldn’t bring himself to feel much of anything at all.

He never so much as touched Waylon when he visited him, much less kissed him. Their interactions were brief and cold, consisting only of Waylon begging for him to speak and the slide of cold food against the floor into the cell.

Their village was still fairly new, the townspeople working days and nights to build it from the ground up. The daily burn of the sun against Rowland’s skin as he worked was enough to keep his mind off of Waylon and on more important things. Such as the stonework, or the lock of hair that kept flopping over his eyes that didn’t want to stay put in the tie holding it back.

Some days the work was so thorough, so long, that Waylon may have missed a couple of meals.

Three months into his imprisonment, Rowland climbed down into the cellars below to find Waylon unconscious, sprawled out against the cold stone floor. It took him a moment to pick up on the fact that Waylon wasn’t breathing, and another moment to place his hand over his heart, feeling nothing but cold emptiness inside of him.

The next moment he flipped him over, finding his back already decaying into the fine black dust he’d become all-too familiar with.

It took Rowland a full day of tearing his house apart to realize his mistake. If he’d simply come home more often, or spent more time with him, he could’ve been able to feed him more. At the very least he would’ve been able to detect the soft rasp in his voice, the weakening of his hands as they placed themselves against him. That was all it would’ve taken to send off the warnings that Waylon wasn’t healthy.

But he hadn’t. And therefore, Waylon had starved.

As Rowland leaned his head back against the empty cell’s wall, he felt the beginnings of laughter coming on as the first few chuckles escaped him. He laughed until he didn’t have any breath left in him.

Even after that, through the twenty-three hard-working years that followed, he continued to laugh. Because as long as he gave Waylon the attention he needed, and as long as he kept him well-fed, he would live.

There was no way he would be able to die again. Not when everything had finally come together.

He’d met Waylon again as a twenty year-old farmer. Rowland couldn’t have been more elated; it didn’t take long for Waylon to fall for him, and soon enough Rowland whisked him away from the hot and dirty life of farming-- and from his parents.

His parents didn’t seem to mind Rowland’s presence, nor were they disappointed when Waylon decided to leave them. He’d had seven other younger siblings; they were just as well off without him.

Waylon seemed more than happy with Rowland throughout the two years that passed peacefully together. He made sure that Waylon received anything and everything he could’ve wanted, given him every luxury, because he was going to live. _‘This time, he’s going to live.’_

Even as Waylon came to the age of twenty-three, Rowland couldn’t wipe the wide smile off of his face as he repeated the same events that had taken place forty six years before. He couldn’t have even if he’d tried.

As an extra precaution, Rowland invested in a small ankle chain to keep Waylon within the barriers of the cell. Just to make sure he didn’t accidentally escape back out into the dangers of the world.

This time around, Rowland made sure to spend extra special time with Waylon. Letting him alone in the cell for a year was another mistake he’d made; Waylon’s mind wouldn’t be correctly spun by the time Rowland let him out. So he spent more time sitting beside the bars of Waylon’s cell, talking about things like his day, and all of the people he’d had to take care of.

Ever since Waylon’s accidental starvation years before, Rowland had started leaving the house less and less. He didn’t need a job in order to sustain himself; he’d always had more money than any human on earth could possibly dream of. However, staying in the same location even after Waylon’s death had rose suspicion.

There had still been those older than they should’ve lived taking in Rowland’s presence as he remained as young as ever while they themselves continued to age. Those people just _loved_ their gossip-- it was Rowland’s job to silence them before they found out what he really was. A monster.

During his initial imprisonment, Waylon wouldn’t stop pleading for Rowland’s presence, his touch, his voice. Now, Rowland gave him all of those things, and then some… but Waylon never uttered a word.

“You still love me, don’t you Waylon?” Rowland asked one day, gripping Waylon’s chin in his hand.

Waylon stood as stiff as a board, same as always. Rowland could feel him trembling under his touch, and he could sense the fear coursing through him just under his skin. His wide eyes searched over Rowland’s face, lips sealed.

Rowland scoffed, releasing Waylon and, with the same hand, slapped him across the face. He didn’t hold back, and the resounding smack was more than satisfying.

Waylon cried out, collapsing against the rickety bed beside hm. Rowland watched disgustedly as Waylon’s hand shot up to his bloodied nose, trying to stop the flood as it trickled and stained the pillow beneath him.

With Waylon distracted, Rowland used the opening to shove him down onto the bed, the back of his head slamming against the headboard with another painful ‘Smack!’. Waylon groaned, eyes half-lidded and lips pulled into a hiss as Rowland yanked the loose fabric of his pants off in one clean sweep.

Rowland immediately grasped the underside of Waylon’s knee, propping it up on his shoulder before hunching over the frightened man, “Don’t you see, Waylon?” he began, leaning down to ghost his lips against Waylon’s cheek. “We were meant to be. All of those trials led to this very moment. I love you with all of my heart darling, and I know you love me, too.”

“Y-you’re frightening me…” Waylon shuddered, eyes glossing over as he finally mustered up the courage to look into Rowland’s eyes.

“Tell me you love me,” Rowland demanded, running his hand along the back of Waylon’s thigh. “Say that you love me.”

“I-I-- I…” Waylon stuttered, chocking on his own spit as Rowland took hold of his hair, yanking back until his neck was angled painfully, skin fully exposed to Rowland’s lips. “R-rowland… p-please, _please_ don’t…”

“Say it,” Rowland hissed into his ear, reaching down to unfasten his pants. He pulled them down far enough for his semi-erect cock to spring free before he lined himself up with Waylon’s unprepared entrance. “I need to hear you _say it.”_

All that he received was a small whimper and another plea. He was already getting sick of the man’s useless mumbling. Rowland licked his lips and, in one swift thrust, breached into Waylon until he couldn’t press himself any further.

What followed was a long, strangled groan from Rowland accompanied by an ear-piercing scream from Waylon. Rowland waited until he was sure Waylon was done before shifting inside of him, earning a few more chocked sobs.

 _“SAY it!”_ Rowland commanded one final time, pulling out of Waylon as slow as he possibly could before thrusting back in harder and faster than ever before.

Waylon let out a short, clipped scream as he pushed against Rowland’s chest, “I-I love you!” he cried out, tears streaming like a flood out of the corners of his eyes as Rowland grinned, placing a gentle kiss against Waylon’s cheek.

“I know you do,” Rowland whispered, snapping his hips back into Waylon’s ass.

The next few minutes were filled with moans and sobs, praises and pleas, and the sound of the rickety old bedframe groaning in protest against the weight forced onto it. The only source of light in the dark and dreary basement was from the candle Rowland had brought down with him, still resting in its place at the entrance of the cell.

When all was said and done, Rowland removed himself from Waylon rather quickly, tugging his pants back up his hips. He climbed off of the bed, tucking himself back into his pants before he dared to look over at Waylon.

He watched Waylon as he curled up into a loose ball, sobbing against the blood-soaked bedsheets. His bruised nose continued to drip blood lazily onto his pillow while a new streak began to form over the sheets between his legs.

“I love you… I love you…” Waylon continued to mumble, curling in on himself even further as Rowland reached over to run a hand through his short, cropped hair. 

He leaned down, a small smile over his lips as he pressed a gentle kiss against Waylon’s cheek, “Goodnight darling,” he whispered, grabbing a nearby blanket before draping it over Waylon’s frail body. “I’ll see you again in the morning-- I promise.”

With that, Rowland walked out of the cell, making sure to lock the door behind him before grabbing the candle off of the floor. He spared one final glance at Waylon, surprised to find the man glancing over the blanket at him with red, puffy eyes.

Rowland gave him another small smile, “It’s almost over, darling,” he whispered, blowing him a soft kiss from his hand. “Another two months, darling. Then it’ll all be over.”

* * *

Rowland walked back from the merchant’s, twiddling the ring he’d purchased between his fingers. He grinned down at it; despite how simplistic and drab it looked in his eyes, he was certain that Waylon would love it. 

It had taken a bit of patience on Rowland’s end to wait until man finally finished the ring, handing over the piece of jewelry with a shaky fist. He’d reeled back as the man began hacking up a storm just after the exchange, retreating into the backroom of his shop.

Rowland scrunched his nose at the memory, pocketing the ring as he continued on his way home. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Waylon’s face as he presented him with their marriage proposal.

The sound of a creaky door nearby gained Rowland’s attention, and he glanced over to his left. He watched as three men walked out of one of his neighbor’s houses, all wearing long black coats and the signature bird masks worn by the local doctors. _‘Well, this can’t be anything good.’_

“Ah, sir!” one of the men called out, approaching Rowland rather quickly, “You shouldn’t be out here. There’s been an outbreak of plague in a nearby town; we believe it’s finally spread to our townspeople. Please, get inside as quickly as you can.” said the man, giving him a firm nod before walking off, the other two trailing closely behind.

Rowland grunted, continuing on his way until he was finally in the comfort of his own home. He locked and barred the door behind him as per usual, letting out a content sigh once he was sure the house was private.

The first thing he did was approach the cellar door, eager to see Waylon and give him his present. It had been an excitable day for sure, and he needed to see Waylon in order to release the tension.

As he descended the staircase, Rowland quickly found Waylon curled up into a ball in the corner of the cell. As soon as he approached the last step Waylon looked up, immediately crawling his way towards the bars.

“I’m sorry darling, I hadn’t planned to be out so late. But I have a surprise for you,” Rowland began, unlocking the door before slipping inside. He didn’t have to close it; the chain attached to Waylon’s ankle held him down, and he had given up attempting to get the key to the cell once he’d realized that the chain was a whole other issue.

Waylon was shaking, clutching his freed ankle tightly. Rowland piqued a brow, kneeling down onto the floor before him, “Is something wrong, darling?” he asked, reaching for Waylon’s ankle.

Rowland pulled Waylon’s hand away rather gently, holding his calf as he inspected two small marks embedded into his skin. He looked back up at Waylon with a look that demanded an explanation.

“T-there have been rats down here for some time,” Waylon quickly explained, gulping. “O-one of them bit me earlier.”

Rowland hummed, releasing Waylon’s ankle. Instead, he moved a hand to cup Waylon’s cheek, splaying his fingers across the gentle skin before leaning in for a kiss.

With his other hand, he pressed against the fabric of Waylon’s pants, gently rubbing his palm over the man’s flaccid cock. Waylon let out a small noise of protest that was quickly swallowed by Rowland’s mouth over his, urging to continue.

“Rowland, I--” Waylon tried, but Rowland wouldn’t hear of it. He pushed even harder against Waylon’s arousal, pressing his palm firmly down and rubbing. 

Rowland shushed Waylon as he pulled away, resting his chin on his shoulder as undid the button of his own pants. Waylon shook and shivered, his skin growing hot as Rowland guided his hands to grip his own rapidly growing erection.

“Don’t be afraid darling,” Rowland whispered into his ear, moving his own hand back to Waylon’s awakening member. “You’re perfect.”

A soft sigh escaped Waylon’s lips, and suddenly his hands were working over Rowland’s swollen cock. Rowland felt his own breath quicken as he rubbed harder and harder down onto the crotch of Waylon’s pants. He savored the small gasps and sighs that spilled from Waylon’s wonderful lips as the other man continued pumping him towards release.

“Just like that,” Rowland breathed, feeling that Waylon was just as close as he was, his shoulders shrugging up to his ears and his hands moving faster against him.

Waylon came moments later, spilling into his dirt-caked pants with a soft moan before sagging against Rowland, shoulders lowering as he shuddered through the ecstasy of it all. His hands stopped moving over Rowland, and he could tell Waylon had been tired long before he’d walked downstairs, so he finished himself off, coming onto the floor in between them.

Rowland didn’t waste another moment. He quickly grabbed the handkerchief he always kept on-hand in his pocket, wiping up the mess that had been left behind.

Waylon hadn’t moved an inch, sitting in the middle of the floor, pants soiled. Rowland smiled down at him, moving that much closer before pulling the ring from earlier out of his pocket.

“Darling,” he began, taking hold of Waylon’s left hand. Waylon looked up, watching Rowland hesitantly as he slipped the ring onto his finger. Rowland rubbed his thumb over it, eyes flickering back up to the other man. “Will you be mine?”

Waylon seemed hesitant at first. Rowland quickly felt all previous joy fade away into the back of his mind upon seeing the lost look in Waylon’s eyes.

He was ready to open his mouth and start shouting. But before he could do anything Waylon launched himself forward, wrapping his arms around Rowland in a tight embrace.

Rowland felt Waylon nodding softly against his shoulder moments later, and he couldn’t have felt happier. He was quick to return the embrace, savoring the warmth of their hug for only a few moments longer before he forced himself to pull away.

Rowland stood, moving back towards the door. He left it open, sparing another glance over his shoulder. “I’ll bring you your dinner now, darling. I’ll get you fresh trousers and wrappings to keep you from picking at your wound.”

Waylon nodded. Rowland smiled, starting back up the stairs in order to begin preparing their dinner. But of course, things could never be that easy.

The next day, Rowland walked down the staircase to find Waylon hacking up a storm against the far wall of his cell. He placed Waylon’s breakfast down onto the floor, working quickly to unlock the door.

“Waylon…?” Rowland asked desperately, flinching back as Waylon began coughing even louder into his hands. He moved to sit beside the sick man, prying Waylon’s hands away from his mouth only to find them covered in blood.

Rowland stared in shock as Waylon keeled over, heaving over the floor before his last meal regurgitated from his throat, splattering against the stone beneath him. Rowland sat by his side until he was done, rubbing his back. Waylon let out a sob, spitting the rest of the upchuck out of his mouth before even more of the disgusting liquid spilled from his lips and onto the floor.

“It… it’s so cold, Rowland…” Waylon finally spoke, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Rowland sat, brows furrowed, until an overwhelming thought occurred to him, “…The plague.” he said, voice barely a whisper.

Waylon heard him nonetheless. He whipped his head towards Rowland with a look of utter desperation plastered across his face, everything about him screaming panic.

“No… no, that’s not…” Rowland began, his voice growing louder, hostile, unnerving. He jumped to his feet, kicking the food resting nearby across the room before slamming his fists against the stone wall. “It’s not possible!”

“I’m s-” Waylon began, voice cutting short as Rowland swiveled towards him.

“No,” he said sharply, pointing an accusing finger towards Waylon. “You weren’t supposed to _die!”_

A loud sob wracked Waylon’s body at Rowland’s words, his arms moving almost instinctively to hold himself. Rowland approached, beginning to raise a hand before he stopped himself. No… no, laying a hand on Waylon now wouldn’t do any good; for either of them.

Instead, he decided to handle the situation in the only way he knew how; to leave Waylon in the basement, alone to die. Whether it be of starvation or the plague first, but the latter seemed more likely.

But not before yanking him up by his wrist, tugging the ring off of his finger, and throwing him back onto the floor. Rowland clutched it to his chest; he couldn’t lose it. He wouldn’t.

Almost a week later, Rowland finally built up enough courage within him to check on Waylon after leaving him alone for all of that time. He descended the stairwell, not at all surprised to find the cell completely empty.

Waylon was gone.

* * *

“Look, we can do this the easy way, or I can shove it down your throat,” said Rowland tiredly, stabbing the bowl of mushy food beneath him. “What’s it gonna be?”

“Nu!” the toddler before him protested, sticking his tongue out and kicking his feet back and forth in his chair.

Rowland sighed, running a hand down his face as he scooped up a small portion of the food before nudging it against the toddler’s lips. “Just eat it, Waylon.”

“Nooo!” he protested again, pushing back against the seat he’d been placed into.

“I won’t tell your parents about the fit you pulled earlier if you eat it,” he persuaded, and sure enough, Waylon’s mouth opened for the spoon moments later.

Two thousand years of chasing the man he loved was finally starting to take its toll on Rowland. Here he was, spoon-feeding that same person as a four year-old. It wasn’t the first time he’d met Waylon so young, but now, he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything but hurt and heartbreak.

After the black plague had taken Waylon away from him, Rowland had abandoned his old house, setting off in search of another place to turn into a home. After several long weeks of travel, he’d deemed himself far enough from the last village to begin setting up shop.

Unfortunately, Rowland had spent all of his time in between Waylon’s death and recent birth trying to come up with different ways to keep him alive until his twenty-forth birthday. He couldn’t think of a single option that didn’t have a flaw, no matter how small. Flaws meant death.

He was beginning to think that the idea of the curse was that it was impossible for Waylon to live past the age he’d died. That even from the very beginning, Waylon had never been given a chance. Nor would he ever.

Long nights dwelling over those thoughts left his home in moderate disrepair, and sometimes Waylon’s parents would be handing their baby off to a man without a single table propped up in his house.

Rowland had met Waylon as an infant, and ever since then his parents had assigned him as his unofficial caretaker for the days and nights they traveled. As much as he would’ve liked to protest, Waylon’s wide eyes and soft hair growing in on his first birthday had been a sight enough to make him want to reconsider.

_“Can you watch Waylon tonight?”_

_“We need a place for Waylon to stay this week. Could he stay with you?”_

_“Don’t forget, Waylon needs lots of rest! Can you handle it?”_

Rowland had become almost like a second parent to Waylon over the three years they’d known each other. He was almost certain that he’d spent more time with little Waylon than his actual parents had.

He certainly had influence over Waylon by now; even as a two-year old he had begun mimicking Rowland’s ‘angry face’, which was a constant. His parents even complained about the fits he threw at home whenever they handed him over. But that wouldn’t matter when he grew up. Waylon would always remain the same delicate flower he always had been in the end.

As he continued to feed Waylon the rest of his meal, Rowland rested his cheek in his hand, eyelids lowering until he was staring dully ahead. He paid no attention to the constant flow of his hand moving from the bowl towards Waylon’s mouth, back and forth.

Everything had gone black and white since their incident with the plague. Suddenly, Rowland had begun trying to think of alternate methods of sneaking his way out of the curse.

After the bowl was emptied, Rowland handed Waylon a small cup full of milk. To his non-surprise, Waylon tilted the cup a little too far once it was nearly empty, forcing Rowland to wipe spilled milk from his face, neck, and the collar of his shirt.

It was a dull life, surely. Rowland didn’t so much as blink when he threw the rag aside, taking Waylon out of his seat and carrying him across the room before plopping him down in front of a small bundle of dolls that had been dropped on his way into the house.

Finally, Rowland plopped down onto the nearest chair with a resigned sigh. There was once a time in his life where he’d so desperately wanted to have a child someday, once he’d found the right person to share his life with. But now they seemed like nothing more than a nuisance, and he would rather be rid of one then have one.

…Rid of one.

_Rid of one._

Suddenly, Rowland came to a shocking breakthrough in the few seconds he had to think about it. He couldn’t keep Waylon alive for all of those years… but maybe, just maybe…

What if he were to die before the twenty-three years were up?

Rowland’s eyes flickered to where Waylon sat against the wooden floor, a doll lying down on its back in front of him. He appeared to have another doll in his hands, moving it as if it were walking around the other sprawled out toy.

He glared at the back of the toddler’s head, thinking his situation over _very_ carefully. If Waylon were to die here and now, would he ever come back? Could Rowland finally be free to succumb to the blackness of death once more?

He was done thinking. In one swift motion Rowland stood from the couch, not even bothering to quiet the thundering boom of his footsteps as he approached Waylon, pulling him against his chest before wrapping an arm around his tiny neck.

For the first few seconds little Waylon choked and sputtered, flailing his arms as Rowland constricted around him like a boa strangling its prey. That was when Rowland’s ears perked at the faint snapping sound beneath him. He let go of the toddler, allowing him to slump onto the floor, neck bent at an almost inhuman angle.

That was when he felt it. At first it started as a series of sparks sizzling against the back of his head, but it quickly turned into burning agony that caused Rowland to scream, actually _scream_ as he slammed his head against the floor in a pathetic attempt to make it go away.

He felt his mind twisting painfully as he stumbled into the kitchen, slamming himself against the counter. The shudder caused a nearby candle to wobble where it stood before falling onto the floor. Rowland stared at the burning light in wonder as it connected with the wood, and suddenly, a small fire began to turn into a much bigger problem. 

Rowland stared for a few moments longer before thrusting himself towards a small wooden crate resting on the dining room table. He reached inside, pulling out a small pouch that jangled as he inserted it into his pocket.

Then, he stumbled back into the living room, grabbing every candle around the house while tossing them onto the floor, most landing beside little Waylon’s broken body. Rowland panted, his head feeling as if his brain was shifting, piecing itself back together as he ran out the back door of the house.

He ran only a few yards before tripping and falling against the gravel road beneath him. The sharp pain from before grew greater than ever, and he clutched his head tightly in his hands as he curled in on himself. The stench of smoke began to invade his nostrils, and the cry of nearby townspeople was anything but pleasant.

A multitude of thoughts began to invade his mind as he laid there. Suddenly, everything that he’d thought was wrong was right, and everything right wrong, but he didn’t have the strength to decipher what any of it meant. It was all a mesh, as if Waylon’s death was sweeping out the gunk of his mind. He was lost; he was so very, very lost

He couldn’t even begin to guess how long he’d been there for, but it couldn’t have been long, because soon enough he felt two pairs of hands hauling him up off of the ground and into their steely grip. Rowland glanced to either side of himself to find two unarmored knights tugging him forward, expressions stern.

Immediately Rowland struggled, fighting against them with all his might. It didn’t take long before he was free from their hold, and he was back again, head throbbing, mind a jumbled mess as he ran towards god knows what.

Moments later Rowland could feel himself slipping, and even the clang of the guard’s boots on his tail were just a dull noise in his ears as he slipped into dark nothingness.

* * *

When he awoke, it wasn’t to the sound of guards swarming him. It wasn’t to the light of day. It was the middle of the night, and all Rowland could hear was the soft swish of water nearby. As he opened his eyes, he soon found that he was lying beside a lake he didn’t recognize.

Rowland groaned, propping himself up onto his elbow. He searched his surroundings before locating a fairly sharp rock sitting not too far from his right leg. Carefully, he reached over for it, taking it into his shaking fist before slicing a small cut into the palm of his hand.

He watched the blood flow from the wound for only a moment before it ceased, already cleaning itself up.

“Fuck,” Rowland cursed through clenched teeth, gripping his head in his hands as another sharp wave of pain overcame him.

As slowly as he could Rowland sat up, curling his knees into his chest. He glanced around, brushing his mused hair out of his face before looking down into the clear water at his feet.

_‘…At least it’s not a river.’_

As he watched his own rippling reflection through the water, Rowland took note of all the dirt and grime that littered his face along with his more… prominent scars. The slice across the bridge of his nose, the line cutting through his eyebrow, and the four slits that had been dragged down over his chin.

He cupped his hands in the water, splashing the clear liquid over his dirt-soaked face. As soon as the water hit him, he felt as though the dam of his mind had broken, a tidal wave of thoughts and emotions flooding through him.

All of his sins and mistakes over the last century of instability weighed down on him, one by one.

_‘You starved your lover to death.’_

_‘You abused him.’_

_‘You raped him.’_

_‘You left him to die.’_

_‘You killed a child.’_

_‘You’ve damned yourself.’_

Nothing could stop the intense shudder that wracked Rowland’s body as the intense thoughts continued to bombard him, his headache growing more powerful than ever. He groaned softly, feeling the wetness of tears as they dripped down his cheeks before plopping down into the lake.

_‘So, its come to this?’_

_‘For two thousand and five years, you’ve tried to keep him alive until the stroke of midnight on his twenty-fourth birthday. But what you haven’t realized is that you’ve been wrong all along.’_

It definitely sounded like his voice, but at the same time, it didn’t _feel_ like he was talking to himself. The voice was more... feminine. Still, he listened through the headache and tears, closing his eyes.

_‘You cannot force a human to be alive. It is unnatural; it is our great journey to pass on to the next life. One may not be able to force a human to live, but one can certainly prevent death before its natural end.’_

Suddenly, Rowland’s eyes widened, and he stared down into the empty lake in shock.

Suddenly, everything became clear with just that one, simple thought.

It wasn’t about keeping Waylon alive until his twenty-fourth birthday. Death would always come, no matter how isolated Waylon was kept.

He was a fool for not realizing it sooner.

It wasn’t about keeping Waylon away from death.

It was about saving him from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Eddie and Waylon](http://peachycans.tumblr.com/post/164873610468/into-the-night-flashback-3-the-renaissance/).


	10. Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course, Waylon has many questions to ask.

Waylon yawned, drumming his fingers against the kitchen counter in a quiet manner. His feet rested against the base of the stool, one of his knees thumping up and down nervously as he watched Eddie working over the stove across the kitchen.

He hadn’t even realized how hungry he’d been until the scent of bacon overwhelmed his nostrils, his stomach growling in response. Three thick strips of bacon were placed over each plate beside Eddie, and Waylon’s mouth watered at the sight.

But the calming scent of a freshly cooked breakfast could hardly be considered a distraction from the elephant lingering in the room from the night before.

He had questions. _Lots_ of questions. Waylon hadn’t felt overwhelmed when Eddie had dropped the immortality bomb on him initially, but now, the reality of it all came crashing down, threatening to consume him entirely.

Eddie had been right there beside him to offer an easy distraction following his grand speech. Actually, they’d _both_ kept each other well distracted throughout the majority of the night. But now that the sun had risen, they’d been sobered up, and the dopamine had worn down, the full weight of the situation weight heavily against Waylon’s shoulders.

Why did Eddie continue on living, while he himself lived a normal human life only to be… reborn again? How had Eddie _become_ immortal in the first place? Is Eddie Gluskin just an alias, or is it his real name? No, no that couldn’t be his real name.

The more Waylon thought about the endless possibilities, he couldn’t be sure that he even _wanted_ to know why the strange cycle repeated over and over again. Maybe there was a reason as to why Eddie was such a closeted person…

“Just ask me already,” Eddie piped up, startling Waylon from his thoughts. He looked down at the counter to find a full plate of food had been placed in front of him without his notice. He looked back up at Eddie, who smirked. “I can tell how hard you’re thinking. There’s something you want to know.”

A small smile snuck its way onto Waylon’s lips as he replied. “More like a million things. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

Eddie returned his smile but remained silent, urging Waylon on. Waylon sighed, sticking the fork he’d been given into a small pile of scrambled eggs, “Well… um, well, why does it happen? The cycle, I mean.” he blurted, feeling an intense blush blossom over his cheeks. Out of all of the questions he could’ve asked first, he’d gone for the sharpest. The deadliest. What the hell was wrong with him?

Eddie pressed his lips together, brows furrowing. “I… I’ve never been sure myself.”

Waylon piqued a brow, responding with a follow-up question. “Do you know how you became immortal?”

Eddie shook his head rather quickly, sighing. “No.”

His acting would’ve been spot-on if he’d been talking to anybody else, but Waylon could see through his lies. He knew that Eddie knew exactly why the cycle exists, and that he remembers every detail about become immortal. He was lying, but the look on his face told Waylon that it was for a reason.

“I can understand why you wouldn’t want to tell me anything about it,” said Waylon, looking back down at his plate, “I get it. But you can’t keep this from me forever,” he continued, eyes flickering up to meet Eddie’s. “From what you told me, I’m stuck in this mess too. We’re in this together, Eddie.”

As Waylon’s words lingered in the air around them, Eddie glanced away, looking rather frustrated over at the other end of the room as he chewed on a slice of bacon. Waylon wasn’t sure if he was angry at him, or if he just didn’t want him to ask any more questions, but still, Waylon decided to go forth and ask something less damaging. “Where uh, where are you from… originally? Where were you born?”

Eddie paused, but didn’t look back over at Waylon, even when he decided to respond. “I believe I’d told you I was from Greece on our first date.”

“Ah, yeah, you did,” Waylon stuttered, his blush growing all the more hot. Then, his mind slowly began pulling bits and pieces together, coupling his Greek origination with his age. Then a sudden, beautiful realization washed over him like a flood.

He looked hopefully over to Eddie, practically bouncing up and down in the stool as his excitement got the best of him. Eddie took notice of his irregular movement soon enough, his eyes conveying a look of confusion. “Um… what?”

Waylon slammed his hands down onto the counter, leaning over closer to Eddie, “Does that mean you were alive when people wore togas everywhere?!” he asked, voice high-pitched and full of glee.

“Oh dear lord,” said Eddie, bringing a hand up to rub at his forehead.

“Oh my god, I can totally see you wearing one, I can see it _perfectly,”_ Waylon screeched, bringing his hands up to box Eddie’s figure into his hands. “You’d look hot in one, too. Do you still have any?!”

“Darling, no,” Eddie finally cut in, placing a hand atop Waylon’s. It calmed him down just enough to allow Eddie to guide him back into his seat, but his insides were still a jumbled mess of happiness. “Yes, I was born during the transition between the archaic and classical Greek era, and no, I don’t have any robes left; mine or yours. I can’t believe you’d ask me about this of all things…”

“Wait, I was alive then too?!” Waylon wheezed, falling against the backrest of the stool. He ran a hand through his hair, groaning. “What the fuuuuuuuuu--”

“Darling, please,” Eddie snorted, gripping Waylon’s hand tighter in his own. Waylon was only thankful that he didn’t retract his hold altogether. He needed that kind of stability right now. “Let’s just… well, how about I tell you? And if you have any questions once I’m done, I promise you, I’ll answer all of them.”

Well, fair enough. Waylon nodded. “Alright.”

* * *

“You really weren’t fibbing when you made this painting, huh?” Waylon mumbled, running delicate fingers over the detailed painting once more. “I really _did_ have long hair.”

“You’re asking the strangest questions, darling,” said Eddie, carefully sipping a mug filled with early-morning coffee over by the kitchen counter. “It’s adorable.”

“Heeey,” Waylon protested, glaring back over the couch. “I’m not _‘adorable’,_ mind you.”

“Mhm,” Eddie grunted into his mug, circling the perimeter of the couch. He took a seat beside Waylon, pinching his cheek between his thumb and forefinger. “And the sky isn’t blue.”

“Stop that,” Waylon pouted, batting Eddie’s hand away. His grumbling soon dissolved into quiet humming as he continued to stare down at the painting. “So… does this mean that I’m as old as you are?”

Eddie leaned back onto the couch, thinking his question over. Waylon didn’t like it.

He’d already learned to expect an evasive answer when Eddie took more time than what was necessary to come up with an answer for him. It meant that he was going to either lie to him, or try to cover up an important memory.

But what could Eddie _possibly_ have to hide from him at this point?

Eddie’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts, “Well… sort of. I was born twenty-three years before you, but if you’re talking about the era, then yes. You’re almost as old as I am.”

“And yet, I don’t remember a single thing about myself,” Waylon pointed out. “And for some _’unknown’_ reason, you do.”

Eddie’s expression quickly morphed into one of discomfort. As bad as Waylon wanted to feel, he might’ve been more willing to offer sympathy if he would stop dodging his questions.

But if he knew anything about Eddie, it was that he wasn’t an easy man to crack. 

So, he leapt on to one of the final questions on his list. It would be useless to ask any other, since the rest had to do with Eddie’s immortality or the cycle; questions Eddie was more than unwilling to answer. 

“What was your birth name?”

Waylon reeled back at the sudden burst of nervousness he received from Eddie, watching as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “That’s something I would _prefer_ to tell you at a later time. But, it wasn’t a name given to me by my parents.”

“Oh?” said Waylon, tilting his head. “Who gave it to you, then?”

“An older woman named Europa,” Eddie answered almost immediately, eyes glistening as past memories surged forward, “She’d told me that the woman she’d _assumed_ to be my mother had walked into town carrying a crate and left it on the edge of the market square. She just ran away, and didn’t come back for it.

“So, she went to see what had been left inside, and there she had found me, wrapped up in a bundle. She took me in and put me to work for her as soon as I was able to walk properly.” he sighed, eyes flickering over to Waylon.

“Oh Eddie,” Waylon sighed, leaning up against the other man. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” said Eddie, brushing off his apology with a faint shrug. “I never knew my mother, so I didn’t have any emotional ties to break with her. Europa, on the other hand, was a hard-headed woman, but she cared enough to raise me.”

“What was she like?” Waylon asked, re-positioning himself so that his head rested in Eddie’s lap, large brown eyes staring up at him in wonder.

Eddie chuckled, moving one of his hands automatically to card thick fingers through Waylon’s hair, “Well, she always seemed to have something to do around town. She was a cloth maker, so of course, it was the first trade I’d ever learned. She paid me as I started growing up, and I spent most of the money I earned on the next big thing I wanted to create; art.

“I remember staying up late at night, lighting a few small candles against the floor and working with worn-out charcoals and makeshift paints until I fell asleep on top of them. As hard of a woman Europa was to me growing up, she encouraged me to paint more.

“Around the time I was beginning as a teenager, I decided that I wanted to explore more of our homeland. So I went out to the market, bought a leather-bound booklet, stuffed it full of paint supplies and began to traveling all over, painting people and places and things. I jumped from village to village; at least, until I eventually found myself in a little town that went by the name of Corcylos. I lived there for a long time after that; it was where, eventually, I met you.”

Waylon hummed happily, his eyes fluttering shut. “How did we meet, then? I can see something cliché, like me stumbling into you, and you glaring down at me, waiting for an apology until you realize how attractive I am, and we shoot the shit.”

The resounding snort caught Waylon’s attention, and he dared to peek an eye open only to find Eddie trying to hold back more laughter. Waylon smirked, poking his chin. “You doing okay there?”

“I’m fine,” said Eddie, regaining his composure. “It’s just… that is _nothing_ like what happened. If anyone acted like a dork that day, it would have been me.”

“Oh, now you _have_ to tell me what happened,” Waylon begged, kicking his feet back and forth over the arm of the couch, much like a child would when excited.

“I was a carefree man back then, much unlike now,” Eddie began, and Waylon took note of how his face lit up with a combination of happiness and sadness. “I… I remember seeing you in the market square while I’d been on the hunt for fresh paint, and I’d seen you talking with a merchant a few shops over. I had dropped my mission completely in favor of trying to impress you.”

“Aww,” Waylon cooed, leaning up to press his lips against Eddie’s jaw. “…Well, it must’ve worked.”

“Darling, it was two millenniums ago,” Eddie chuckled, but nonetheless slipped his hand underneath Waylon’s t-shirt, rubbing his hand up and down his back. “I haven’t acted so foolishly since.”

“You should,” Waylon mumbled, throwing his arms over Eddie’s shoulders. “I’d love to see you go crazy for me…”

As Waylon trailed a hand down Eddie’s chest, the other man hissed, tilting his head away from Waylon. “It’s still early morning, Waylon…”

“I don’t care,” Waylon protested, leaning forward even further to press his lips against Eddie’s neck, nestling his nose into his shoulder. “All I want right now is you.”

Before Waylon was able to break Eddie into indulging himself, the loud chime of the doorbell signaled the coming of an unwanted guest. Eddie glared harshly at the closed door, showing Waylon that he was just as bothered by their presence as Waylon himself was. 

Nonetheless, Waylon slid off of Eddie’s lap, allowing him to stand up and see who could’ve possibly wanted to disturb them at ten o’clock in the morning.

Waylon leaned over the back of the couch, watching Eddie’s back as he checked the window beside the door before turning the knob. Both men were surprised to see Dennis, the man Waylon recognized as Eddie’s assistant, standing on the other side of the doorway.

“Y’know, it’d be nice if you could let me know when you’re not opening up shop so I don’t have to wait outside of a locked-up building for forty-five minutes and have to--” Dennis began, his voice trailing off as his eyes traveled over until he met Waylon’s, even from all the way across the room.

Waylon kept his lips sealed, even as Dennis continued to stare. “Um…”

Eddie glanced between the two, and Waylon was more than thankful that he sensed the growing tension in the room, because soon enough he sighed, gesturing between the two men. “Dennis, Waylon. Waylon, this is Dennis, although I’m sure you already met while Miss Lisa was filling out the forms for her wedding gowns.”

“Yo,” said Dennis, waving a single hand.

“Hi,” Waylon responded, feeling just as if not more awkward than Dennis must have.

“I’ll be there in an hour,” Eddie chirped in, gesturing Dennis back out the door. He seemed to take the hint because moments later, he was walking away from the house, Eddie closing the door quickly behind him.

“Ah, sorry about that darling,” Eddie apologized, running a hand through the strip of hair atop his head.

“It’s okay,” Waylon shrugged, moving up and off of the couch, “I should probably go home soon, anyway. I need to be in for work this afternoon,” he said, stretching his arms over his head.

“Of course,” said Eddie, offering a small smile. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

Waylon smiled and nodded. Then, he paused, wanting to ask just one more question before they wrapped up their morning. An important one. “I shouldn’t tell anyone about this, should I?”

Eddie seemed startled by the question. He raised both of his eyebrows, seemingly dumbstruck until he opened his mouth. “…no. It’s not something most people take… uh, well.”

“Gotcha,” said Waylon, pulling his thumb and forefinger over his lips. “My lips are sealed.”

* * *

Eddie unlocked the front door to the shop, Dennis trailing in closely behind him.

“So,” Dennis began, taking his seat behind the counter almost immediately. “How are Lisa’s dresses coming along?”

“They’re on-time, at least,” Eddie sighed, flipping the front door’s sign to ‘open’. “I’ve had very few issues making them. The bridesmaid dresses have been completed; now all that’s left is the bridal gown.”

Dennis kicked his feet up against the shelf underneath the counter, leaning back into his swivel chair. “Sounds good. I’ll assume I’m manning the shop while you’re at work up there?”

Eddie grunted an affirmative, moving towards the staircase at the back of the store. Maybe Dennis wouldn’t bring up the morning’s events after all--

“I’m sorry, Ed.” Dennis said next, causing Eddie to swivel around, sending him a dark glare.

Dennis coughed, looking away, “About Waylon’s birthday, I mean. You uh… you sure you’re okay…?” he asked gently, but still, it lit a fire in Eddie’s gut.

“We’re not discussing this,” he replied sharply, moving back towards the staircase. Before Dennis could utter another syllable Eddie slammed the door shut, stomping up the stairs and into his workroom.

His mission had been to simply go to work, start the process of pinning Lisa’s wedding gown together, then leave. Of course, _of course_ it had been a stupid thought to hope that he could go a whole day without mention of Waylon or their curse.

Eddie growled lowly, kicking a rickety nearby stool. The softening furniture crashed against the hardwood floor, a small chunk from one of its legs splitting off from the rest.

He wished he hadn’t told anyone about the curse in the first place. _‘I shouldn’t have told anybody.’_

Why did he put his trust in people, anyway? Humans were manipulative, they were scum, always digging into a person’s deepest thoughts and fears and seeking to bring out the worst in them. He preferred the easier times, where no one knew what was happening beside Waylon and himself.

He wished he could live in a world with only Waylon. A world where no one else existed but Waylon.

Eddie felt his shoulders slacken, a defeated sigh escaping his lips. No; no, those kind of thoughts were anything but sane. He remembered thinking the same way centuries before, and that had only led to disaster.

No, he had to remember why he’d done all of the things he did. He had to tell people just so they could keep him in check; he didn’t want to end up relapsing into the psychopath he’d once been. He didn’t want to revert into his old self; not again. Never, _ever_ again.

Dennis probably hadn’t been the most ideal candidate, but he was the one person who hung around him the most. Chris, however, was a good person to talk to. He was a very kind man with good reasoning skills. Hell, he’d even kept him from relapsing once before.

Eddie took a deep breath, trying to calm his previously destructive thoughts. It… it wasn’t something he should worry about so soon. When the time came, the time came. And he’d be prepared for it.

He rubbed a hand against his sweat-riddled forehead, feeling his ragged breaths beginning to even out into relative normalcy. Maybe… maybe he could do something else for a little while. At least to take the edge off and get him thinking better thoughts. 

…Or maybe he could just release every pent-up emotion inside of him. Maybe he could write something down.

Eddie walked across the room and over to a large table piled up with sketchbooks filled with sketches of clothing and mannequin bases. He took the first booklet he saw off of the top, flipping through the pages until he found a blank one.

He tore the page out of the notebook as carefully as he could, making sure it ripped away clean before placing the book back on top of the pile. He took a seat at the next empty table, grabbing a nearby pen. He felt his brow twitch; what could he write?

A whole slew of potential letters flew through his mind, until the same general idea started to stick well enough to use. He pressed his lips together, placing the tip of the pen down onto the top left corner of the paper. His writing could be for Waylon-- or the past version of him that was long gone. It sounded like a good enough idea.

Maybe he could sign it with his birth name, too. He was sure Waylon would love that-- at least, if he could’ve remembered.

And so, he began to write everything he wanted Waylon to know down onto the small sheet, summarized into two simple paragraphs filled with heartbreak.

_Waylon,_

_I’ve told you for thousands of years, and thousands of times that I’m sorry…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was kind of on a time-crunch with this chapter since I just got back to my regular academic-school routine and my math instructor was kind enough to load us all up with work, preventing me from writing this over the whole week instead of the last two days like I had to. Nonetheless, I got it done.
> 
> Next week is the final flashback chapter(s), split up into two parts. It's a double update, and it's the final answer to one big question; how did it all begin?


	11. Flashback - Ancient Greece - PART 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Nothing is sweeter than love, nothing higher, nothing stronger, nothing larger, nothing more joyful, nothing fuller, and nothing better in heaven or on earth.”  
>  _-Thomas à Kempis_
> 
> **475 BCE**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit sexual content ahead.

His supplies were running low.

He scoffed, rubbing his palm down the side of his face. Not even counting the lack of inspiration to create something new, he hadn’t bothered setting up shop in the market square in over a week. That had inevitably led to his current shortage of drachmae, which then led to a lack of resources.

He really needed to set up more often.

It wasn’t hard to get customers; no, that wasn’t the problem. The town’s abundance of travelers had always been fascinated by his paintings, and local families were in constant need of materials to make clothing with. He was just… just…

…lazy. There was no sugar coating it. He was just too lazy to go out.

On any other day of the week, he would’ve been more than happy to go out and set up shop in the market square. But today was a lazy day-- a lazy day where he could try to draw something. _Anything._

When he got up to retrieve the materials he’d need to get started, he was more than disappointed to find that he didn’t have anything useful leftover from the week before. Nothing but a couple of empty containers, and worn-down charcoals, anyway.

He groaned to himself, closing the cabinet. So much for a lazy day. He knew he’d have to go out whether he liked it or not. He could almost guarantee that his food pantry was in a state similar to his paint cabinet.

He walked around the house, looking for something to cover himself with before he left. His eyes locked onto the first clump of fabric he saw; a blue cloth that had been draped over the klinai. He wrapped it around his naked body, the fabric covering him from the waist down.

Well, good enough. It wasn’t like he was running around the streets naked like he preferred to do in the solitude of his own home.

He grabbed his nearby stash of drachmae, tying the bag to his hip before sprinting out of the door and down the road. Along the way he found one of his neighbors, an older man named Thyrsos, smiling and waving as he passed.

He returned the gesture, making sure that the string tying the bag to his hip didn’t fall as his pace slowed to a steady jog. He didn’t live far from the square; by running, he was walking through the main archway in little to no time.

If the market wasn’t notorious for its crowded mornings, he wouldn’t have ran. As much as he liked to converse with other merchants and patrons, he really didn’t want to have to spend more time there than he absolutely had to. 

Once he made his way past the first few tables of goods, he slowed down, letting out a heavy sigh of relief. There were people milling about, that was to be expected, but not enough for there to be an issue getting the things he needed.

“Icarius! Icarius, over here!”

Icarius turned around to find a young boy standing behind a nearby table, waving him over. He smiled warmly at the sight, approaching the bustling boy.

“Hello Hiero,” Icarius greeted, placing his palms down onto the wooden surface before him. “Are you having a good day?”

“Oh yes,” said Hiero, bouncing up and down as he spoke, “Mama let me run the store today! I’ve made _this_ much drachmae already!” he stated proudly, pointing to a small crate full of drachmae beside him.

Icarius let out a full-bellied laugh, reaching into the bag by his side, “Well, with all that drachmae, you’re nearly rich! I don’t have much food left at the house, and I’m not sure where I should go to get anything fresh…” he said, rubbing his chin, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Here!” the boy screeched, pounding his fists down onto the counter. “I have loads of stuff that you could buy! WhaddyawantIcarius,Ihavebreadandcheeseandgrapesand--”

“Woah, woah there,” Icarius chuckled. “Alright, alright. You drive a hard bargain Hiero, but I accept.”

He purchased almost one of everything that the boy had in stock. It would fill his pantry for at least a week, and the transaction left Hiero leaping for joy. Still, he made sure he had some drachmae left over for his artistic supplies once he was done; it was, after all, the main reason he’d come to the market.

Hiero took Icarius’ drachmae in his open palms, swiftly depositing them into the crate beside him before beginning to wrap up his goods. Icarius chuckled at the boy’s meticulousness in his work, glancing over his shoulder to scout the nearby tables. The woman who usually sold him artistic supplies always moved from table to table; it was a constant struggle to find her.

As Icarius tried spotting her, his eyes landed on an old merchant’s stand not too far away. He had only one customer prodding at his goods at the moment. A man, with pale skin and long blonde hair tied back in a braid.

Icarius shook his head, turning his attention back to Hiero, who was still working on packing up his goods. He had moved onto placing eggs into a separate cloth bag, his hands moving slow and carefully as to not break them.

And so his gaze wandered back to the old merchant and his customer. They seemed to be reaching the end of their transaction, the stranger having already handed several coins over to the elderly man.

Icarius looked over the stranger’s clothing next. He wore light orange robes, the sleeves short and the length below his waist covering what seemed like too much in Icarius’ eyes, despite the fact that it cut off just above his knees.

Maybe if he were running outside on a windy day, the fabric would kick up just enough to…

“You liiiiike him!” Hiero shouted suddenly, causing several heads to turn in their direction.

Icarius looked back to Hiero, an intense blush bursting to life across his cheeks, “What?! No, no, I don’t. I was just… admiring his sandals.” he said, quickly averting his gaze down to the man’s feet. His sandals were average-looking, like any other patron wandering the square.

“No you weren’t!” Hiero laughed, pointing to the stranger. “You were staring at his butt!”

“I don’t know who he is,” Icarius huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. Almost as a second thought, he grabbed his fully-packed goods off of the counter, “Tell your mother I said hello,” he grumbled embarrassedly, storming away from the stand.

“Don’t let him get away, Icarius!” Hiero shouted behind his back. Icarius turned around, sticking his tongue out to the ten year-old before beginning his next search for art supplies.

As Icarius wandered about the square, he soon found that the man from before never seemed to trail far behind. No matter which way he turned, no matter who he spoke to, the man was always a few feet away, buying something or another.

It was driving him mad. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a crime to sneak another look at him…

Just as Icarius tilted his head to look, he was startled to find the stranger staring right back at him. Icarius quickly looked away, pretending to look through several different tables at once.

Once he was sure the coast was clear, he glanced back over only to find that the stranger was gone.

He furrowed his brows, swiveling around in an attempt to spot the man before he lost him for good. Finally, he spotted him standing nearby, back turned towards him. Icarius couldn’t deny that his eyes traveled down in that moment, his pupils dilating. He bit his bottom lip, the same blush as before spreading to the tips of his ears.

“ _AH!”_

Something crashed onto the group beside Icarius, followed by a small, fleshy ‘thump’. He looked down in surprise to find Hiero lying on his side, clutching his scraped elbow while tears welled up in the corners of his eyes.

“Hiero! Are you alright?!” Icarius asked almost instantly, kneeling down in order to assess the damage and get a betting look at the boy’s scrape.

That was when Hiero leaned forward, looking as though he were hugging Icarius to any outsiders. To Icarius, Hiero lowered his voice, whispering so quietly that he barely even heard him, “I’m trying to help you! You’ve gotta win this guy over, he’ll love that you dropped your stuff just to help me,” he said, sniffing a few times as if for good measure.

“Hiero…” Icarius groaned, shaking his head as he inspected the boy’s injured arm.

“Is he okay?”

Both Icarius and Hero looked up to the new voice that had spoken above them. Icarius was more than startled to find himself face-to-face with the blonde from before; he was staring down at them with a worried look in his eyes.

“I’m okay!” Hiero shouted, showing off his scuffed elbow to the stranger. “I’m just thankful that my mama’s good friend _Icarius_ was here to help me. _Icarius Leos,_ who lives on the _far side of town--”_

“Thank you Hiero, that’s enough,” Icarius snapped, trying to keep his voice level as he helped Hiero to his feet. “He understands.”

Hiero was quick to grab all of his scattered belongings off of the ground, piling everything into his arms before smiling up at Icarius. “Thank you again, _Icarius!”_

Icarius shook his head in agitation as the boy ran off. He turned around to try and find out where the stranger had walked off to, but was pleasantly surprised to find that he was still standing right beside him.

“U-uh…” Icarius stuttered, gulping. Now that he was back to a standing position, he found himself nearly towering over the stranger. It made him feel… well, maybe it would be best not to finish that thought.

The stranger chuckled nervously, taking a step back, “Well, I should probably go. It’s… really nice what you did for that boy,” he said, giving Icarius a small wave before walking in the other direction, and fast. 

Icarius reached out a hand, about to ask the stranger for his name but soon thought better of it. He had been a cute stranger, sure, but he didn’t want to come off as some sort of creep. Besides, he had already seemed startled by Icarius’ presence if his quick departure had been any indication. 

Instead, he gathered his belongings, choosing instead to start his walk home. He would forget about the mysterious stranger soon enough-- he was sure that he would.

During the walk home, Icarius continued to sulk; at least, until he realized something.

“I forgot the paint,” he sighed aloud, pinching the bridge of his nose.

It was going to be a long week.

* * *

Of course, he couldn’t hide in the solitude of his home forever. He still didn’t have any paint, his drachmae was now at the lowest it’d ever been. On top of all of that, it was in his nature to want to get out for fresh air. The week he’d been stuck inside had been stifling, but his embarrassment from the previous week still killed him.

Drachmae were Drachmae. He decided to suck it up and set up shop in town.

As Icarius took his seat behind the table, he couldn’t help but hope for the stranger to wander back into the market. The embarrassment would be worth it; then at least then he’d get to see him again.

But he hadn’t been so lucky. The small hope that the stranger would return was what drove Icarius throughout the day, but as the sun continued its cycle, and as it set further and further to the west with every passing moment, Icarius’ hope was depleted.

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to bawl over it. After all, they were only strangers. For all Icarius knew, the man could’ve been some snobby brat from the upper-class sectors and had just come into the market to look down upon all of those beneath him.

But would he have asked about Hiero’s wellbeing if it were true?

Icarius unwrapped his hair, shaking it out with his hands. As the day moved forward, fewer customers wandered nearby his table, and the day dragged by longer and longer. So he did what he loved to do to entertain himself; he began playing with his hair.

Icarius repeatedly braided and unbraided different sections of his jet-black hair off and on between the few patrons who were interested in his goods. Eventually, he got to the point where he was so bored that he started trying to tie his hair into several intricate up-do’s.

Just as Icarius finished tying two small braids onto either side of his head, he began the process of wrapping it all up into a tight bun. That was when a young, high-pitched voice startled him back into reality.

“Hello Icarius!”

Icarius yelped, nearly toppling off of his stool as he reeled back. At the very last second he managed to right himself, glaring over at Hiero, who now stood on the other side of his table.

“What’s the matter, Hiero?” Icarius sighed, rubbing his temples. He really _was not_ in the mood to talk about the stranger from the week before--

“Mama sent me to get some of your cloth-- I accidentally ripped mine in the courtyard yesterday. I prefer yellow, and not the weird green mama keeps buying for me…” said Hiero, shuddering.

“Okay,” Icarius breathed, thankful at the change of subject between them. He rummaged through several rolls of cloth behind him before pulling out the same material Hiero had requested. “Will this do?”

“It’s perfect!” Hiero clapped, snatching the long dressing of fabric from Icarius’ hold before slamming down the drachmae he owed, “Thanks, Icarius!” he called over his shoulder, running away from the table and back to where he could only assume his mother was set up.

Icarius looked up to the sky; the sun appeared as though it were preparing to set. He wasn’t in the mood to keep his table up and running past nightfall, so he closed up shop, telling himself that he’d get back to work first thing in the morning. He still didn’t feel comfortable with the amount of drachmae he’d earned.

Icarius decided to take the longer route home on his way back that evening. He liked to walk along the river while the setting sun was shining against it. The extra length was no bother to him; he needed the exercise.

As he walked along the path of the river, Icarius ended up passing one of the village’s recently-constructed temples. It was a gorgeous thing, and the townspeople seemed to enjoy sitting around it, taking in the nature that flourished outside of it.

That was where he saw him.

Lying on his side in between the thick blades of grass, knees curled up into his chest and eyes closed, was the stranger from the week before.

Icarius gulped, unsure of what he should do, or if he should do anything at all. Should he just leave him to rest in peace? Should he approach him? Should he try to make conversation?

Even as his thoughts continued to race, Icarius’ legs had a mind of their own. He began to approach the man, beads of sweat collecting against his hairline. What was he _doing?_

Instead of startling the stranger like he’d thought he would, the blonde’s eyelids fluttered open at the sound of Icarius stepping over the grass. As he sat up, Icarius took a step back.

“U-uh…” Icarius stuttered, scratching his arm. “H-how, how are you…?”

The man sat up, scanning Icarius up and down. After a few painful moments of total silence, he offered Icarius a small smile. “I’m well, thank you. …I um, I remember you from the market.”

“Yeah…” Icarius breathed, shifting his weight on the soles of his feet. Maybe it would be better if he just left and pretended nothing had ever happened. Was he making him uncomfortable? Oh no, he probably was.

The man must’ve sensed his nervousness, because his lips parted, and he began talking at a rapid pace, “I’m-- I’m Waylon, by the way. Waylon Matthas,” he said, reaching a hand up for Icarius to take.

Icarius stared down at Waylon’s hand in complete and utter confusion. Yet after a few moments, somehow, he returned the gesture. “Icarius Leos.”

“Nice to meet you, Icarius.” said Waylon, his voice timid and small.

Icarius stood there for a few moments longer, wondering what was supposed to happen next. What normally happened after two people were introduced, anyway?

Waylon’s eyes widened not a second later, his hand quickly stretching to pat the ground beside him. “Um, would you uh, like to join me?”

Icarius beamed, moving to take his seat beside Waylon. He stretched his legs out in front of him before placing his hands on the ground, letting out a long, content sigh.

Waylon giggled beside him, moving back into the same position he’d been in before, now with his eyes open, “I’ve always liked how the sunset looked from here,” he said, pointing to the reddish-orange hue of the sky above them. “I usually sit around here this time of day.”

“Oh?” Icarius chirped, smirking. “I guess you must not be that secretive; now I know where your secret hideaway is.”

Icarius smirked at the sight of Waylon blushing, the other man tilting his head away in a poor attempt to hide what had already been seen, “W-well, it’s not a _secret_ really, I’m always sitting in plain sight…” he mumbled, blonde locks of hair falling over his face.

“Well, I’ve never seen you here before,” Icarius pointed out, looking back up at the sky. “Perhaps I wasn’t paying enough attention to my surroundings.”

Waylon didn’t respond. Icarius didn’t expect him to.

The silence that followed wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, as far as Icarius could tell; if anything, it was peaceful. Tranquil. Both Waylon and Icarius set themselves up comfortably, watching the sunset in peace.

Once the sky was edging on the darkness of night, Icarius reached a hand over to touch Waylon’s side, shaking him gently out of his daze, “Waylon?” he asked quietly, retracting his hand as soon as the other man shifted.

Slowly, Waylon pushed himself up off of the ground, stretching his arms over his head. He blinked once before turning to Icarius, “Hm?” he hummed as if he were sleepy, but the glimmer in his eyes told Icarius that he was wide awake.

“Would you like to go on a walk with me?” Icarius asked next, nodding his head towards the path in which he’d come.

“Sure!” Waylon answered almost immediately, pushing himself up into a stand along with Icarius.

As they set foot on the path, both men ended up retracing Icarius’ steps into the town square. Despite the darkness that had fallen over them, it didn’t seem to stop the bustle of people around tables that were still open.

Candles had been lit to ward off the darkness around those who were still awake, but the empty tables had been left exactly the way they were. Food vendors seemed especially enthusiastic about the coming night, reeling in more and more customers as the hunger of a well-deserved dinner overwhelmed them.

Icarius and Waylon hadn’t discussed it with one another, hadn’t planned it out. One minute they were walking around the square, the next Icarius was paying for a warm, freshly-cooked dinner, handing off the first plate to Waylon.

They had situated themselves on the ground in one of the quieter sectors of the square. Icarius had finished almost half of his meal before they’d even sat down.

“I don’t know how to thank you for this,” said Waylon, munching on a few grapes he’d picked up along the way.

“No need,” Icarius stated, shaking his head. “Your company alone is enough to satisfy me.”

Once again, the adorable blush from earlier made itself at home over Waylon’s cheeks. It was almost too much to handle. Icarius found himself biting hard into his piece of bread in order to keep himself from saying anything flirtatious.

The rest of their meal was shared in comfortable silence. They were still nearly strangers, but for some reason, neither wanted to leave the other’s presence. 

Icarius was just glad to have finally met the stranger from the market. He had been used to pipe dreams and fantasies; he was usually able to discern dreams from reality fairly well, and Waylon had definitely seemed like the former. He’d labeled Waylon as nothing more than a far-off dream.

But now, sitting beside him and sharing a meal on the side of the path, he’d been able to get to know this man better than he could’ve ever hoped. And he hadn’t been given the chance to hope very far.

“Well… Waylon,” Icarius began, twiddling his thumbs nervously. They had finally come back to a stand, having finished both of their meals. The sun had completely set by now; Icarius was exhausted, but that was the last think he wanted to admit to Waylon. “I’m glad to have finally met you.”

“Likewise,” said Waylon, his voice even smaller than before. He shifted on his feet, biting his lip before looking back up. “I’ll see you around, Icarius.”

Icarius’ eyes widened, wanting desperately to continue talking to him, but all he could do was watch as Waylon took a step back before turning around to leave the square. Waylon spared one last glance over his shoulder before walking in the other direction. 

Before he lost sight of Waylon for good, Icarius took a step forward, “Wait!” he called out, earning Waylon’s attention. He gulped, “Where will you be tomorrow?” he asked, cursing himself for how desperate he sounded.

Waylon didn’t seem to mind. He smiled, “You know where to find me,” he called back, smiling wider than ever before. He turned back around, and soon enough, he was lost to the rest of the crowd.

* * *

The grassy yard outside the temple had become their designated meeting place over the month they’d known each other.

Sometimes they would venture into town. Sometimes they’d walk along the winding paths of their town until they realized that they’d just walked in one huge circle. Once, they’d sat on the very edge of the river, dipping their feet into the rushing current while laughing over just about anything.

Stories, myths and legends had been exchanged over the days and nights they’d spent in the tall grass. Sometimes Icarius would recite old tales his caretaker had once told him. Others, Waylon would provide history and knowledge about his family’s ancestry.

“I’d never been taught any of my parent’s trades, and my father fell ill in recent months, so I’ve been spending most of my time either lazing around the field or taking care of him,” Waylon had explained, finishing his statement off with a small shrug. “I know, I’m a bore.”

“Absolutely not,” said Icarius, waving a dismissive hand. “There’s nothing wrong with watching nature as it grows around us, or the life that is carried within it. I have my own little field of solitude a bit of a walk from here, but I always like to make the trek up just to sit around and think. It’s peaceful.”

“Oh?” Waylon hummed, piquing a brow. “And when will I get to see this ‘field of solitude’?”

“When my feet aren’t killing me from the walk we took earlier,” Icarius laughed, rubbing the sole of his foot as if to accentuate the point.

“So, what do you do, anyway?” Waylon asked, tilting his head in curiosity.

Icarius smiled as he walked over the same section of grass he usually found Waylon in, pleased to see the other man wide awake and patiently expecting him. As he approached, he pulled the leather booklet he’d been carrying out in front of him, placing it on his lap as he sat down beside Waylon.

“What’s that?” Waylon asked, skipping over his usual greeting in favor of scooting closer to Icarius’ side.

“I finally mustered up the courage to show you,” Icarius briefly explained, brushing his thumb against the edge of the casing. “I wasn’t sure you’d like them.”

“Let me see,” said Waylon, tugging on the corner of the book until half of it rested in his lap, the other in Icarius’.

Icarius took a deep breath, “Alright,” he said, flipping the book open.

The silence that followed was almost suffocating. Icarius sucked in a breath, hoping and praying to the gods that Waylon didn’t shun his works…

“Icarius… it’s… _beautiful!”_ Waylon praised, tugging the first painting in the book closer towards him. Icarius let out the breath he’d been holding, feeling the beginnings of a smile curl the corners of his lips. Waylon liked it. _Waylon liked it!_

“Thank you,” Icarius breathed, glancing down at the page himself. It was just a portrait practice, although the picture itself held a small piece of sentiment in his heart.

It was a cliffside lush with plant life, the colors used depicting a distant sunset. And then there was the main subject of the painting; a woman, standing on the cliffside.

“Is this someone you know?” Waylon asked.

“Used to, yes,” said Icarius, feeling his smile falter, if only a little. “She was my caretaker when I was small. I never knew my real parents, but she filled in their place just as well. She was such a strong woman; I felt it fitting to put her in a place like this. She’d keep on fighting until the very end for her land.”

“She sounds wonderful,” Waylon said, looking up to Icarius. “What happened to her?”

“I left home when I was young-- she had still been healthy and well at the time, but… that was many years ago. If she’s still kicking around today, she must not have long…” Icarius trailed off, feeling a great wave of sorrow wash over him.

Even thirty-three years later, Icarius still felt get sorrow over abandoning Europa. She had encouraged and supported him in his choice to leave… but even then…

“I’m sorry,” said Waylon, placing a hand atop Icarius’.

Icarius didn’t respond. He didn’t have the heart to; he couldn’t stop the wave of emotion that threatened to flood him. Especially now, where just the thought of her passing on was almost too much to bear.

Thankfully, Waylon seemed to translate his feelings well enough to steer their conversation in a different direction. “What about the field?”

Icarius snapped out of his darker thoughts at Waylon’s words, “Hm?” he hummed, encouraging Waylon to elaborate.

“Did you have an inspiration for the field, too? I don’t recognize these white plants…” he said, pointing towards several white flowers standing up high behind Europa.

“Oh,” said Icarius, suddenly remembering the other thing he’d wanted to show Waylon that evening. “Yes, I did, actually. It was the field I’d mentioned to you before; my ‘field of solitude’, if I’m correct.”

Waylon smiled. “I remember.”

“That was the other thing I’d wished to show you, actually,” said Icarius, closing his book. He tucked it under his arm before pushing himself up, reaching out to help Waylon off of the ground. “Would you care to join me?”

Waylon glanced between Icarius’ hand and his face several times before realizing what he’d meant. He smiled, taking the man’s hand in his own and allowing himself to be pulled up off of the ground.

Not much was said during the trek there. A few words had been exchanged here and there about the weather or other passerby, but otherwise, Icarius and Waylon decided to take in the nature ahead of them as the path became smaller and the amount of people nearby lessened.

Eventually, they ended up having to step off of the path entirely in favor of ascending a large, grassy hill. The blades were tall enough to brush against their hips; it wasn’t tall enough to obstruct their view of one another, but still, Icarius couldn’t help himself from reaching back and taking Waylon’s hand into his own to make sure the other man didn’t lose him.

He didn’t want to look over his shoulder to see what Waylon’s reaction looked like; he wasn’t sure he’d like the result. But Waylon hadn’t pulled away yet, and that was all that mattered at the moment.

Finally, as the hill began to smoothen, the grass was now accompanied by all sorts of blossoming wildflowers. Even the white ones from his painting had begun to make an appearance, but Icarius refused the risk of catching Waylon’s eye in an attempt to watch his reaction as he looked around.

Icarius knew they were approaching the cliffside by how the ground dipped ever-so-slightly beneath their feet. That was when he stopped, releasing Waylon’s hand in favor of moving his book onto the ground before taking a seat in the tall grass.

Finally, he dared to look up into Waylon’s eyes from where he stood awkwardly beside him. He looked as though he weren’t sure what to do. Icarius chuckled, grabbing the man’s wrist before tugging him down beside him.

Waylon let out a small yelp as he plopped down onto his ass. Icarius couldn’t help but laugh; a full, genuine laugh of delight.

“Shut up,” Waylon grumbled, dragging his knees up to his chest. 

Icarius chuckled for only a few moments more before finally letting Waylon off the hook. He placed his hands behind his head, lowering himself back into the dirt. He watched as Waylon did the same, curling up much like he had the first time he’d found him outside of the temple.

After a few seconds of silence passed, Waylon spoke up. “It looks a lot like your painting, now.”

Icarius looked up, noting the setting sun off on the horizon. It was still bright enough to allow them to see one another fairly well; it _was_ a lot like the painting. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Mm,” Waylon hummed, shifting against the grass. Icarius tilted his head, watching as Waylon’s eyelids lowered, hands curling up beside his head.

“Not going to fall asleep on me, are you?” Icarius asked, chuckling.

“No,” said Waylon, letting out a loud snort of his own. “I just like to think like this.”

Icarius nodded despite the fact that Waylon couldn’t see it. He looked back up to the sky, letting out a long whistle. “I’ll be quiet for you, then.”

One thing Icarius thoroughly enjoyed about his time with Waylon was that they could sit in silence for as long as they wanted and things would never become awkward or eerie. They could just… sit and be comfortable knowing that the other was present.

Much like now. Icarius tried out Waylon’s technique, slowly closing his eyes. He let his mind wander-- and of course, the first thing that came to mind was Waylon.

He was beautiful. He cared about people and life and all of the things within it. Icarius was pretty sure that someone could strike him to the ground, spit on him and call him a whore, and he would just stand right back up again and walk away instead of fighting back, or crying about it.

But of course, Icarius would never let anything like that happen. He would happily fight for Waylon, all throughout the day and into the night.

Icarius’ mind then drifted to Hiero, thinking about how he hadn’t seen the boy as often after meeting Waylon. If only he could see how far he’d come with him now…

“What was that?”

Icarius opened his eyes to find Waylon sitting up straight, stiff as a board and his eyes wide and alert as they searched the grass surrounding them. He looked startled, maybe even frightened.

Icarius sat up along with him, throwing an arm over his knee. “What’s wrong?”

“I thought I heard something…” Waylon whispered, furrowing his brows.

Suddenly, Icarius felt something smooth and wet rub up against his ankle. A small hissing sound followed the sensation, causing Waylon to reel back in fright, “That!” Waylon yelped, pointing over to Icarius’ ankle. “That was it!”

Icarius smirked at Waylon’s fright, reaching over to where the creature was still making its way over him. He picked it up in both of his hands, hauling it up and out into the open. He turned to Waylon, grinning. “This little guy?”

Waylon flinched back as the creature was brought close to his face, “What is that…?” he asked carefully, making sure to keep enough distance between him and the creature in Icarius’ hold.

“It’s a garter snake,” Icarius explained, glancing down at the reptile. “You’ve never seen one before?”

“N-no…” Waylon said, voice shaky. “Does it carry poison, or venom?”

“Some snakes do, but this little guy’s friendly,” said Icarius, lifting the snake up towards Waylon. “You can hold it-- I promise it won’t hurt you.”

Waylon seemed hesitant at first, but after a few moments of careful deliberation, he slowly held out his hands. Icarius grinned, placing the creature into the other man’s hold.

Once he was sure Waylon was okay with having the snake on him, he retracted his hands. He watched as Waylon’s fear slowly morphed into a form of relative calm, and soon enough, he was relaxed with the snake slithering over his palms and wrists.

“Maybe I could keep it as a bracelet,” Waylon mumbled thoughtfully, watching in wonder as the snake wrapped itself around his wrist. 

Icarius felt himself suddenly blushing; gods above, that was one of the most adorable things he’d ever heard. He tried holding in his dorky grin as he reached for the snake, slowly unraveling it from Waylon’s arms before placing it back into the grass, “I think it’s time for him to slither on home,” said Icarius, watching as the creature slipped through the blades, out of sight moments later.

“Well, that was fun,” Waylon mumbled, looking back to Icarius. “Are there any of the bad ones up here?”

Icarius shook his head, “No, I’ve never seen any, and I’ve been coming up here for years,” he reassured. 

Waylon seemed relieved by the statement, a soft sigh escaping his lips. “Well, that’s good to know.”

 

Both stared in the direction the snake had gone. Icarius opened his mouth to speak, but Waylon beat him to the punch.

“That kid in town, when I first saw you,” Waylon began, his voice low. “What was his name?”

Icarius was baffled by the question. “Hiero…?”

“Hiero,” Waylon sighed, turning to look off in the direction of the cliff. “He was trying to get us together, wasn’t he?”

Icarius nearly choked on his own spit at the accusation. He coughed in an attempt to cover it up, pounding a fist against his chest. “U-uh… what makes you think that?”

Waylon chuckled, shaking his head. “He used your name _way_ too many times. And he told me what side of town you lived in.”

Icarius let his shoulders droop, allowing the feeling of shame from that day to consume him once more. “Sorry…”

“No, no,” said Waylon, waving his hands in front of himself. “I-it, it was cute.”

“Yeah, he uh,” Icarius stuttered, scratching the back of his head. “He wanted me to impress you…”

“Why?”

Icarius groaned, rubbing down his face with his hand. Should he just go for it? Should he admit to all of his crimes from that day?

“Because…” Icarius began softly, letting out a soft groan. “Because he’d caught me staring… rather inappropriately, uh…”

Why did he have to mention that part?!

Waylon’s face lit up from its usual soft, peachy color into the red of a beet in a matter of seconds. He looked away, clearly uncomfortable with Icarius; he probably wanted to leave, wanted to _never speak to him again,_ why had he been so _stupid…_

“I’m sorry, I,” Icarius began, trying and failing to push himself up off of the ground. “You probably didn’t want to hear that, maybe we should just--”

That was when Waylon shot forward, and suddenly, Icarius felt two hands push against his shoulders, and Waylon’s lips pressed against his own.

He… had idea what was happening. Without thinking, Icarius moved his hands to Waylon’s hips, relishing in the soft sound that escaped the smaller man’s lips. 

Were they kissing? _‘Is this actually happening?’_

Suddenly, Waylon reeled back, eyes wide and lips parted. “Uh…”

Icarius shook his head, leaning in to kiss Waylon again. This time, it was softer, and with more meaning behind it. Icarius brought a hand up to Waylon’s hair, running his hand through his soft blonde locks. He brushed his fingers down the braid resting against his back, gently moving it to flow over his shoulder as he pulled himself away.

Icarius’ eyelids fluttered, breaths heavy and labored. Waylon wasn’t doing any better; he was absolutely flushed, his hands pawing at Icarius’ bare skin.

Icarius moved lower, snaking a hand around to hold Waylon’s lower back before pulling him closer. Icarius moved his lips down over the uncovered part of Waylon’s collarbone, pressing soft kisses against his skin before making his way upward.

“I…” was all Waylon managed to say, head tilting back and exposing more skin to Icarius’ greedy lips.

“Let me paint you Waylon,” said Icarius, voice hot and begging. “Please. You’re the only inspiration I could ever want.”

Waylon’s breath hitched as Icarius nipped at the sensitive skin of his neck, “W-wait, n-now?” he asked, his voice a stuttering mess.

Icarius tilted his head back to look Waylon in the eyes before pulling him flush against his chest. He nodded, his mind now set on a completely different task. 

“B-but it’s nightfall, wouldn’t you need good light?” Waylon continued, voice muffled by the fabric covering Icarius’ shoulder.

Icarius hummed, running his hands up and down Waylon’s back. “That’s nothing a few candles can’t fix.”

* * *

Icarius clenched the red fabric in his fists, making sure it was long enough to suit his needs before he took it out into the common room. As he rounded the klinai, he had to force his mind to stick to professionalism as he was forced to look upon Waylon’s naked body. He quickly but efficiently draped the cloth over Waylon’s chest and down his abdomen.

Waylon watched him as he worked, a small blush coating his cheeks. His hair had already been adjusted by Icarius to droop gracefully over his shoulder, and the red cloth accentuated the flow down the front of his body.

Before Waylon had even had to take off his clothing, Icarius had spent ample time covering the klinai with fabric until he was certain that it would look presentable behind Waylon. He wanted everything about the painting to be perfect; he didn’t want to lose such an amazing evening.

Icarius gave the klinai a once-over, now with the addition of Waylon, rubbing his chin. After another moment of hesitation, his eyes lit up, and he smiled, “Perfect,” he said, moving back over to where he’d propped up his canvas and paint supplies.

“So…” Waylon began, eyes following Icarius’ movements. “I’m assuming that I’m just supposed to stay like this?”

“Yes,” said Icarius, taking his seat. “I’m not going to complete the entire painting tonight, but I’ll get enough onto the canvas that I’ll be able to finish it without having you pose for hours on end,” he chuckled, wiping a wet paintbrush against his robes.

“That’s okay,” Waylon continued, offering Icarius a small smile. “I’m actually pretty comfortable like this. Now might be the time to worry about me falling asleep on you,” he laughed, eyes fluttering flirtatiously.

Icarius grinned. “Losing sight of those eyes would be quite a loss.”

As soon as the first brush of color touched the canvas, Icarius lost himself in re-creating Waylon’s image in the form of art. It slowly became an obsession, making him as perfect as possible. To make sure he didn’t lose a single detail; to make sure he wouldn’t forget.

He had been more than surprised at Waylon’s agreeance to allow Icarius to paint him. He had no obligation to say yes, and he’d certainly had no obligation to continue their kiss earlier in the night. He had no reason to trust him whatsoever.

And yet, he did. It made Icarius’ heart swell in his chest just to know that this man must feel the same as he to do all of the things he’d done. To tell him about his life, what he liked, what he did.

Icarius had known for a while that he was in love. What had started out as a small crush on a local stranger had turned his heart into a vast ocean of love for the man lying before him.

Despite Waylon’s earlier comment, Icarius didn’t finish the painting. He finished most of it, but left just enough to go off of when he returned to it the next day. He could tell Waylon was growing tired by how often he’d begun to yawn, yet he kept his eyes open.

Icarius had even offered him the option to sleep as soon as he’d worked in the hard details of his eyes. But Waylon had shaken his head, declaring that he’d fight his way through the sleepy haze if he had to.

He’d stuck to his word faithfully. Icarius couldn’t complain. He could feel himself beginning to slip away as well. He just hadn’t wanted to lose the picture of Waylon he’d envisioned earlier in the night; he had to get it onto _some_ sort of canvas before the image was lost.

His clothing was covered thoroughly in paint by now; he’d always had a bad habit of wiping used paintbrushes onto his robes, sometimes even swiping multiple colors against the fabric at once to see which would work best with whatever he was making.

So when he finally stood up to assess the damage, Waylon sat up with him, laughing. Icarius sent him a small glare, blushing. 

“Is this common?” Waylon continued to laugh, standing up off of the klinai. He clutched the red fabric to his chest as he approached, swiping two fingers over a wet dash of red covering Icarius’ hip.

Icarius almost jumped back when he felt Waylon’s cold, wet fingers travel over his cheek, wiping a thin trail of paint onto his skin. Waylon only laughed harder at Icarius’ expression, covering his mouth with a hand as Icarius tried and failed to get the paint off of him.

Icarius let out a small growl, rubbing his hands over his robes before shooting forward, holding Waylon’s cheeks in his hands and pulling forward, thoroughly covering the other man’s face in wet paint.

“Oh, you--!” Waylon hissed, scrubbing a hand over his cheek. Quickly, he looked around, spotting the containers Icarius had been using earlier. In a flash he was standing above them, soaking his hands in both blue and orange before wiping them down Icarius’ bare chest.

Waylon grinned, “It looks like your clothes are a bit dirty,” he said, laughing mischievously before moving his hands to the blue fabric covering Icarius’ hips. 

Icarius, with his hands still thoroughly coated, held Waylon’s hips in his paint-soaked hands. “Would you like me to change?”

Waylon smirked, “Something like that,” he said, voice low as he released the red cloth in his hands.

Icarius gulped, but didn’t release Waylon as he was left fully exposed in front of him. He did nothing to stop Waylon when his hands reached forward, tugging the dirty robes away from his hips. Soon enough, they fell to the floor, leaving both men exposed in the middle of the dimly lit common room.

When Icarius didn’t make any movement to continue, Waylon lean forward, brushing his lips against Icarius’ neck. “Icarius…”

“This isn’t exactly professional,” Icarius mumbled, but still, he didn’t complain as Waylon pressed a kiss against his jaw.

“I know,” Waylon continued, licking his lips. “And I know you want this as much as I do,” he said, hand traveling lower over Icarius’ abdomen.

Icarius shivered, hands gripping Waylon’s hips so hard that they were sure to bruise. Waylon didn’t flinch away; if anything, he pressed himself even closer, throwing his arms around Icarius’ neck. “Icarius, just take me already.”

That did it. In one swift motion Icarius had Waylon hoisted up into his arms, lips crashing against Waylon’s. In mere seconds he had the other man pinned down onto the klinai, his body firmly wedged between Waylon’s legs.

Waylon moaned as Icarius’ growing erection pressed up against his own. He arched his back up off of the klinai, and Icarius took the opportunity to slide his hand under Waylon’s back, keeping him propped up at an upward angle.

Icarius bit down onto Waylon’s shoulder, eliciting a whole slew of sounds from Waylon’s lips that could only be described as ‘wanton’ or ‘whore-like’. Icarius grinned, sliding his hips up against Waylon’s.

“Ngh,” Waylon groaned into Icarius’ mouth, hands moving to hold onto the other man’s back. “Icarius, _please--”_

Icarius shushed him, propping himself up on his elbows before bringing a hand up to cup Waylon’s cheek. Those wide brown eyes stared up at him in wonder, pupils blown and cheeks flushed. Icarius sighed, leaning down to place another soft kiss against those perfect lips.

Just as he pulled away, he brought the hand cupping Waylon’s cheek up towards his lips, pressing them against the soft pink flesh. Waylon got the message within seconds; he parted his lips for Icarius, wrapping them around his thick fingers.

Icarius groaned at the sight of Waylon sucking his fingers further and further into his mouth; he could think of something else he’d love for Waylon to suck, but there was no way he would ask him something like that so soon. He didn’t want to scare him into it if it was something he didn’t want to do.

He shook his head at the thought, choosing instead to go back to watching Waylon lapping up his fingers, coating them thoroughly in his saliva, “Just like that,” he praised, a soft groan bubbling up in his throat as Waylon’s eyes fluttered, hips thrusting upwards into his own.

“Anxious, are we?” Icarius chuckled, eyes lowering as his fingers slid even further down Waylon’s throat, “Just try to enjoy the anticipation,” he said, earning another small moan from Waylon’s lips.

Once Icarius was sure that his fingers were coated well enough, he slid them out of Waylon’s mouth, moving lower and lining them up with Waylon’s entrance, “Just… try to relax, my love…” Icarius mumbled, pressing the tips of his fingers into Waylon's ass.

Waylon let out a small noise of discomfort, but otherwise made no other objections as Icarius’ fingers slid further and further into him. Both groaned in relief as Icarius buried his fingers to the hilt. Icarius leaned down, pressing another deep, sensual kiss to Waylon’s lips.

Slowly, Icarius began testing the waters, sliding his fingers in and out of Waylon as gently as he could. Waylon let out a small whine, back arching even further as Icarius repeated the process, slowly but surely working him open.

As Icarius continued to thrust his fingers into Waylon, he began peppering feverish kisses over the other man’s chest and neck. One particularly deep thrust had Waylon writhing and moaning, and Icarius made it a point to press against that same exact spot as he continued forward.

Soon enough, when Icarius was sure that Waylon would be able to take him in with little to no resistance, he removed his fingers. He wiped them off on the fabric beside them before placing both of his hands on either side of Waylon’s head, “Are you ready?” he asked breathlessly, his cock already pressing up against Waylon’s ass.

Waylon’s eyes squeezed shut as another soft groan escaped him, but he nodded nonetheless. With that, Icarius pressed inside of him.

Both men let out several long, ragged breaths once Icarius was fully sheathed inside of Waylon. Icarius adjusted his hips, back hunched over the other man, “You okay?” he sighed, leaning down to press a soft kiss against Waylon’s forehead.

Waylon nodded, fingers digging into Icarius’ back, “J-just… just--” he breathed, biting his tongue.

Icarius worked his hips slow and steadily in and out of Waylon’s ass. As he thrusted back inside, Waylon keened, his knees pressing up against Icarius’ sides. Icarius grinned, starting a slow and steady pace of fucking himself into Waylon.

With every movement, every kiss, every thrust, Waylon was sighing and moaning, back arching further and his legs wrapping themselves around Icarius’ waist. Neither cared about the paint smudging their chests as Icarius worked himself into Waylon harder, faster, leaving the other man nothing more than a mumbling mess of hormones.

Suddenly, Icarius felt Waylon’s release against his stomach, followed by another loud moan. It only encouraged Icarius to speed up, pounding into Waylon until he felt sweat dripping down his back.

Soon enough, he felt himself release inside of Waylon, his body now thoroughly coated in sweat. He buried his face into the crook of Waylon’s neck, panting against his hot skin.

He pressed back inside of Waylon once, then again, slowly riding out the rest of his orgasm with the man he now knew was destined to be his lover. He just _knew._

Waylon’s hands ran through Icarius’ mused hair as he panted against him. Their sweat and paint-coated bodies were pressed together over the klinai, legs and arms tangled in one another’s.

“I think…” Waylon began, taking a moment to catch his breath before continuing. “I think I’m in love with you, Icarius.”

It was then that Icarius pushed himself up and off of Waylon, staring down at him in amazement. A small, sad smile snuck its way onto his lips, and he leaned down to kiss Waylon for what felt like the millionth time.

It was a long, deep kiss that left them both breathless as soon as they parted. Icarius brushed a loose strand of hair out of Waylon’s face, smiling the same stupid smile he always did when he saw him. “It seems, Waylon Matthas, that I am in love with you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, this is still a double-update. The next chapter should be posted either later tonight or early tomorrow morning.
> 
> [Eddie and Waylon](http://peachycans.tumblr.com/post/165415373753/into-the-night-flashback-4-ancient-greece/).


	12. Flashback - Ancient Greece - PART 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But if I lose you, what have I left to hope for? Why continue on life's pilgrimage, for which I have no support but you, and none in you save the knowledge that you are alive, now that I am forbidden all other pleasures in you and denied even the joy of your presence which from time to time could restore me to myself?"  
>  _-Heloise_
> 
> **473 BCE**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Suicide attempts.

Icarius counted the coins in his hand carefully, making sure he’d collected the right amount from their savings. Once he was sure he’d have enough, he slipped the drachmae into the same small bag he’d been carrying for years, tying it around his waist.

Waylon stood over the klinai across the room, folding an assortment of cloths that had been strewn over the furniture earlier in the day. As Icarius watched him work, he couldn’t help the smile that came from the sight. Everything just felt so… domestic.

The last two years he’d had to spend with Waylon had been the best of Icarius’ life. Over those years and all the time they’d had to spend with one another, many things had happened; both good and bad. 

Good. They had begun their real, loving relationship with one another after the first night he’d spent with Waylon. Good. Hiero and his mother Astraea had become great friends with Waylon as soon as Icarius had introduced him. Good. Astraea had offered Waylon work on their family farm, a job he’d happily accepted.

Bad. Waylon’s father had died of his illness three months after Icarius had been introduced to the family. Bad. That summer’s drought had forced most of the plant life over the cliffside to recede or die out. Bad. Hiero had caught a severe illness two weeks ago. Waylon had offered to look after him while his mother ran the shop.

Not counting the few bumps in the road, Icarius could say with absolute certainty that Waylon was the one for him. They weren’t _perfect,_ no one was, but that was the beauty of their relationship. Any argument, any sorrow, any fear; all would be overcome with the other by their side.

He was so certain, so determined to make Waylon his once and for all, that Icarius had gone to the best craftsman he knew to seal their love. He’d requested a very specific object from the man, and had finally received the finished piece the night before.

Icarius snuck up on Waylon from behind, wrapping his arms around the smaller man’s waist. He buried his nose against Waylon’s neck, breathing in the man’s flowery scent; he really, truly loved every bit of Waylon.

Waylon chuckled, leaning back against Icarius’ chest as he continued his work of folding fabrics. “I thought you were going to the square?”

“Mm, I am,” Icarius sighed, forcing himself to let Waylon go. He brushed just enough blonde hair out of Waylon’s face in order to place a kiss against his forehead. “I just… wanted to know if there was anything you desired while I’m out?”

“What I desire will have to wait until you get back,” said Waylon, smirking devilishly. “But I _would_ like some more fresh fruit for the breakfast I’m planning for tomorrow morning.”

“Consider it done,” Icarius stated proudly, picking Waylon up in his arms and spinning the startled man around in a circle before placing him back onto the floor, chests pressed flush together. “Both of your requests.”

Waylon’s look of confusion slowly morphed into one of contentment, his smile bright and gentle. Icarius noted the way Waylon’s thumb brushed over the ring on his finger; the ring he’d given him the night before.

It had taken a while for the craftsman to finish his request, but it had come out exactly as Icarius had pictured it in his mind. The garter snake from the evening he’d taken Waylon to his hideaway, made of polished silver and carved down to the last detail, including the pattern of the snake’s scales.

It curled gracefully around Waylon’s ring finger, and of course, it had fit just right. Decorated with roses, Waylon’s favorite flower. Lapis Lazuli gemstones were embedded into the snakes body, Waylon’s favorite color.

Icarius planned to be bound to Waylon for the rest of his life. He wanted to be with him forever and always. There was no doubt in his mind that Waylon felt the same as he.

Waylon laughed, shoving Icarius’ chest, “Just go already,” he said, reaching over to pick up the next unfolded cloth within his sight. “If I’m not here when you get back, it’s because I went to the Patera’s; Hiero’s still sick, and I don’t know it Astraea is planning to go out today.”

“Alright,” said Icarius, patting the small baggie tied to his hip. “Then I’m off. Until this evening, my love.”

Waylon blushed, looking away. “Until this evening.”

Icarius grinned, leaving Waylon to his devices. He would be home soon; then they could be together again.

He couldn’t have asked for anything more. Icarius didn’t think his life could’ve turned out so perfectly. From the gods residing above to the depths of the underworld below, he sent his prayers. He was truly happy.

* * *

Icarius lugged the bag of goods over his shoulder, letting out a soft huff as he walked through the backside of the market square. The trip had taken longer than he’d hoped; the day at the market had been a busy one for sure, so the wait to purchase the fruit Waylon had requested had been long and stressful.

Though it was worth it. He would do anything for Waylon.

He hadn’t come across Astraea while he was in the square, so he expected that Waylon would be at home when he returned. Then he could fulfill Waylon’s second request.

As he walked, Icarius took note of a small group of people gathered at the very edge of the square huddled around one another. Icarius raised his eyebrows, moving towards them. He was curious to see what all the fuss was about.

He placed his bag onto the ground, approaching the group. There was a decent amount of space between each family, giving Icarius enough room to squeeze between the mass only to find an old woman sitting in front of everyone. 

She had very few belongings laid out in front of her; a square of cloth had been placed onto the ground beneath her. To her right sat a small satchel and a bowl with many drachmae placed inside. To her left, a small cup full of water.

Icarius wasn’t sure what she could be doing to draw such a crowd. But then, a woman leaned forward, placing several drachmae into the bowl. As she moved back towards the crowd, the elderly woman opened her eyes, nodding up to the one who’d given her the drachmae.

“I see…” she began, closing her eyes once more. “…your husband. At home, lighting candles. It appears as if he’s just finished making… ah, bread.”

Icarius was all the more confused by the elder’s statement. What was she talking about? Why did people continue to pay her for strange accusations?

Apparently the look on his face said it all, because suddenly he felt someone nudging his side with their elbow. He looked over to find a young man staring at him, pointing a finger towards the older woman, “She’s a fortune teller,” he explained, lowering his hand. “She accepts five drachmae in exchange for the past, ten for the present, and fifteen for the future.”

Icarius hummed, checking to see if he had enough drachmae leftover to humor the elderly woman. As he felt the pouch against his side, he decided that yes, yes he did. He reached into the bag, daring to pull out fifteen drachmae for the future, as the young man had explained.

He looked around, finding the woman who had paid for the present retracing her steps back into the crowd. _‘Now or never,’_ Icarius thought, and so he walked forward, placing the fifteen drachmae into the bowl at his feet.

Once all fifteen coins had been deposited, Icarius took a step back, waiting patiently for the woman to open her eyes. The anticipation was unnerving; would she actually be able to tell his future?

After what seemed like an eternity, she opened her eyes, casting her gaze to Icarius. “Do you have someone in your life, Icarius?”

Icarius was already taken aback by the fact that she knew his name, _‘Perhaps not completely baffling,’_ he tried to tell himself. Many of the townspeople knew his name. 

He cleared his throat, “Um… yes?” he answered. Did… did she mean Waylon? If she was a fortune teller, why would she have to ask?

The woman smiled sadly, turning back to stare at the ground in front of her. “It’s a gift from the Aphrodite that we are able to feel the love we do. But if one wishes for something unnatural, one can only expect downfall. And I sense an impossible wish from you, child.”

Before Icarius could ask her to elaborate, she continued, “Answer this question,” she began, looking back at him. “If you could spend an eternity with your love… would you?”

Icarius furrowed his brows. He wasn’t quite sure if she was trying to trick him with the question. Was a life lived after death what she meant to predict?

“…Yes,” Icarius answered. “I would.”

At that, the elder frowned, her expression empty. “I could see it. …Darkness. Undiscernible, but beneath it lies something much darker. Aphrodite, who has given you your love, knows of your wish. I can see her, over darkness, and traces of your love swimming in it. I…”

Suddenly, the woman gasped, bringing a hand up to her forehead. “…Something’s not right.”

Icarius froze. All eyes were on him. Waylon… what did she _mean?_

“She’s… she…” the elderly mumbled, eyes widening. She turned to Icarius, “You must hurry home now,” said the elder, panic in her eyes. “Go. I can do nothing but pray for you, child.”

Icarius felt his breath quicken; he was so lost and confused. Everyone was still staring at him; it gave him the motivation to do as she said and leave. He went one further than that-- he shouldered his bag, turned, and _ran._

His breath was ragged and fast as his run turned into a sprint, his strength slowly beginning to ware on him. His thoughts raced, and his mind turned to mush. He couldn’t control his body anymore; he tripped over the rocks beneath him, falling painfully onto his knees.

Icarius hissed as he stretched his arms out in front of him in an attempt to break his fall. His palms scraped against the gravel, leaving tiny scratches against the sensitive skin. His bag had gone down with him, his goods flying out onto the path, the liquid products leaking out onto the ground.

He stared down at the dirt beneath him, feeling his mind as it went completely blank. Icarius stood, his knees bleeding all the way down to his ankles and his palms sticky and wet as he balled them up into fists.

All he remembered was approaching the river just past the brush beside him, and one last thought before everything fell into darkness. A feminine voice that sounded angry; no, _furious._

_‘You chose wrong.’_

* * *

Water.

Icarius jolted, feeling the cool liquid as it rushed past his lips and down his windpipe. His eyes shot open and his arms flailed as he found himself struggling to stay afloat in the rapids that he was currently stuck under.

He couldn’t find the time to think about anything else-- only survival. He coughed and choked on the water, paddling as hard and fast as he could to the left where a small entrance into the river was fast approaching.

He swam like a maniac, washing up against the wet dirt like a floundering fish. Icarius coughed and sputtered, releasing all of the river water that’d been lodged down his throat out onto the ground. He wiped his hand against the back of his mouth, shuddering.

He rolled himself over onto his back, falling against the beachside in defeat. He coughed some more before kicking off his loose, ripped sandals.

Then, he glanced himself over, finding his robes in tatters. Somehow, the cloth he’d wrapped around his neck had managed to stay in place through the swimming and the rapid current. He wasn’t even sure how he’d fallen in the first place; or _why._

Icarius groaned, rolling over onto his side before the start of another coughing fit. He coughed and coughed, even after all of the moisture in his throat had been depleted.

Once he was sure he was done, and that he wouldn’t throw anything else up, Icarius pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. Slowly, he righted himself, coming to a stand on shaking legs. He shuddered again, glancing down to assess the damage that had been done to his lower body.

Most of the bottom half of his robes were in tatters. His scuffed knees were… were…

…healed.

Icarius sucked in a breath, holding his palms out in front of him. The scratches and rubble buried within his skin from before were gone too, without a trace of them ever having been there.

_"Aphrodite, who has given you your love, knows of your wish. I can see her, over darkness, and traces of your love swimming in it.”_

Icarius’ breath hitched. Suddenly, he couldn’t think; as quickly as he could, he scrambled over to the edge of the beach, tugging on loose vines and roots in order to pull himself up and back onto the path.

The cloth around his neck snagged against a sharp root, tugging Icarius’ head back as he surged forward. He let out a loud roar of both anger and agony as his agitated throat protested against the strain, and he was quick to tear what was left of it off, abandoned to hang over the outgrown root.

As soon as both of his feet were planted onto the grass above, Icarius bolted back onto the path, starting a furious sprint back to his house. Along the way he found his discarded goods, but he couldn’t care less what happened to them. He had a much bigger problem to deal with.

He felt an ache slowly begin to pound against the back of his head. Was this what the woman from earlier had felt? What did she know that he himself did not?

Something was wrong. Something was so very, _very_ wrong.

Finally, he approached the front walkway to his home. Icarius half-panted, half-sobbed as he burst through the entryway, yelling out into the darkened room. “Waylon?!”

 _‘Please, oh_ please _let him be with the Patera’s…’_ Icarius thought, breathing in hard and fast as he searched the house for any sign of Waylon.

It didn’t take long. As soon as he turned the corner into the kitchen, he saw something slumped against the floor behind the dining table.

A strangled cry tore its way through Icarius’ throat as he rounded the table, hoping and praying that he was dreaming. Something like this couldn’t happen, could it? No-- no, it _couldn’t. It couldn’t happen!_

Icarius dropped to his knees, grabbing Waylon by his arms before shaking him back and forth. “Waylon?! Waylon! Waylon, please, wake up…!”

He didn’t receive so much as a whisper from Waylon; all he did was lie limp in Icarius’ arms, seeming as if he were growing lighter and lighter by the moment. Icarius sobbed, pulling Waylon tight against his chest.

“Wake up… wake up…” he mumbled over and over, clinging onto Waylon like he was the only thing keeping him attached to reality. Who knew, he probably was.

Tears streamed down his cheeks like a flood as he continued to beg for Waylon, asking for him to wake up, to come back, to say something, anything at all. But all that followed was an eerie silence, and the feel of grain sifting through his fingers.

“Waylon…?” Icarius sobbed, pulling away to inspect his hands. They were covered in black dust, sifting through the cracks between his fingers. 

Icarius rubbed his red-rimmed eyes, wiping away the tears so that he could at least see where the strange sand was coming from. When he looked down, he found it piling up beneath Waylon, almost as if it were tearing him apart.

After another few moments of inspection, Icarius confirmed that it _was_ tearing him apart. Waylon’s chest caved in; that was when Icarius knew he’d seen enough.

As quickly as he could, Icarius took Waylon’s hand into his own, bringing it up to his lips in order to kiss the back of his hand. Another sob wracked his body as his lips connected with something cool and metallic; his ring.

Icarius stared down at the piece of jewelry, eyes wide. Waylon was fading fast; there wasn’t much left of him that was still intact.

“You are my sun, Waylon,” Icarius sobbed, leaning over to place a kiss against the man’s forehead, “My shining star…” as he did so, he slipped the ring off of Waylon’s finger, clutching it in his fist, “I hope you’ll forgive me for keeping this,” he said, holding the ring between them. “ _I love you.”_

As if on cue, Waylon’s hair began to turn into the same material that plagued his floor. Icarius looked away, wiping his eyes over and over as he ran back out the door, falling against the stone walkway.

That was when he finally broke. Icarius sobbed loud and hard, leaning against one of the chairs propped up outside as his face was soaked with his tears. He still refused to believe what happened; what was _happening._

How could Waylon just… die? It didn’t make any sense; there was no logic behind it, no reasoning. He was just… gone.

He couldn’t take it. How was he supposed to go on without Waylon? He’d never thought in a million lifetimes that someone could make him feel the way he did now.

Icarius fell asleep in that same exact spot, in an almost identical position. He wasn’t sure when it’d happened, either. All he knew was that when he woke up, it was to someone tapping his shoulder.

“Icarius…?”

He looked up to find Astraea Patera standing above him, looking almost as dreadful and worn-out as he did.

“Is… is Waylon here? I…” she trailed off, taking note of Icarius’ slouched, pathetic body thrown over the patio chair. “Icarius… what happened?”

“Waylon’s not here,” he replied sharply, voice hiccupping. “…He’s gone, Astraea.”

At that, the woman cringed, looking as if she were about to cry. And by the way her face looked, all red and puffy, it appeared as if she’d been doing exactly that not long before.

She seemed at a loss for words. Icarius said nothing; he couldn’t get his voice to work properly, and he wasn’t in the mood to ask her about her troubles. All he wanted to do was run away, or maybe jump back into the river and let the water actually take him this time.

“Hiero had a coughing fit last night, and um…” the woman began, her voice hiccupping. “Waylon and Hiero… they’re both going to a better place, Icarius.”

That was when Icarius’ eyes snapped open. Did she mean…? Was that why she’d wanted to talk to both him and…?

Icarius pushed himself up off of the chair, planning to storm off and jump right back into that river. He wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to.

But instead, he lunged forward, pulling Astraea into a tight hug. So tight, it left the woman both gasping and sobbing at the same time. It was the only thing he could think to do; he sobbed over her shoulder, snot dripping out of his nose.

Even with Icarius bumbling over her shoulder, Astraea returned the hug to the best of her ability, “Thank you, Icarius…” she mumbled sadly, patting his back. “It’ll be okay, it’ll be okay…”

It would never be okay. But he would never tell Astraea that.

The worst of it was that he was the one to receive the short end of the stick. Something they both had yet to learn.

* * *

It took Icarius until his fifty-sixth birthday to realize that something was wrong with him. 

Through the ten years that had passed, he’d noticed several strange occurrences that had happened to his body. The first was how easy heavy labor had become. Some things just appeared lighter; he had been convinced at the time that it was just because of the depression he’d fallen into, making him feel like he could lift more at a time; an attempt to get him out of his own head.

Then there was the time he spent with Astraea. They both stuck together and kept each other safe and calm through the traumatic loss of his fiancé and her son. But when Astraea’s body aged, and Icarius remained the same, heads had begun to raise in question.

On top of all of that, Icarius dipped to his lowest whenever he sustained an injury while at work. He would sit there and watch as it healed within a few minutes to an hour, depending on whether the mark was just a small prick of a thorn to a scrape from falling against something jagged.

He hated it. He hated himself.

Only once had he tried to jump back into the river and drown himself. He would never tell Astraea that he’d done it; she would never have to know. All he’d wanted to do was see if there really was something wrong with him.

So he’d jumped. And as the water suffocated him, he found himself still breathing despite the water invading his lungs, and his eyes wide open even though the dirt burned them.

He’d climbed out wishing he could just end it all the more painfully.

That was when he’d tried other methods in the dead of night when Astraea was asleep. He’d carved a deep line into his arm with a dagger, watching as thick red blood oozed from the wound. He’d fallen asleep watching all of it leak slowly out of his body.

When he’d woken up the next morning, not only was he still alive, but the wound had sealed itself back up. All that had been left behind was the crust of a large scab forming over the wound, and a large puddle of blood against the sheets beneath him.

After that, Icarius had snapped. He’d taken Waylon’s ring with him up to their special cliffside, making the march up long and tedious on purpose.

Once he’d been standing over the edge, he jumped. There was no way he’d live through it; it wasn’t humanly possible to survive a fall that far down, no matter who was the one falling.

He’d landed on his feet, a loud snap following his collapse. Icarius cried out as he fell against the dirt, breath heavy and labored as he glanced over the condition of his legs.

The back of his right knee had a small piece of bone that had torn through the skin. On the other, his left ankle had been twisted at an awkward angle, making it impossible to walk.

So he’d set out on a new mission-- praying to the gods that no one found him there and that he was able to starve.

But of course, he’d just had to be found. Astraea knew about his hideaway, and so that had been one of the first places she’d looked when he hadn’t come home for three whole days. She’d been horrified by his condition, and had called for help as quickly as she could.

He’d rested for two weeks straight. After those two weeks, his ankle had healed back into place, and the back of his knee was almost back to its original position.

Astraea had been the first to predict the wrong residing within Icarius. That something had happened to him when he’d fallen into that river. And once Icarius had told her about the fortune teller, Astraea had given him a pretty good prediction as to who might’ve been the one responsible.

Unfortunately, she didn’t live long enough to see Icarius confirm her theory. Icarius had been eighty-seven when the situation he was in came full circle.

He’d realized long before that there was no hope in death. Something _was_ wrong with him-- but why him? Why did Aphrodite want him to continue on when he saw no point in living?

He was playing with the ring in his hand, shoulders slumped as he tried to make himself as unnoticeable as possible. He’d traveled to a town far over in the hopes that no one there would recognize him, or find out what he was.

And it had worked. At least, until he crashed directly into a passerby walking in the opposite direction.

Icarius cringed, rubbing his forehead as the person in front of him reeled back, “Sorry…” he grumbled, glancing up to properly apologize to the person he’d run into.

And then he saw his face.

Icarius’ eyes widened in both wonder and horror at the man standing before him. Was… was he hallucinating…? Had he hit his head too hard…?

“…Waylon?” he asked carefully, eyes wide and alert.

The man seemed startled by the question. He took a step back, scanning Icarius up and down, “Yeah…?” he replied, brows furrowed.

“And who are you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, Icarius was cursed by a _god._ Thus, concluding the flashback chapters. From here on out, everything is present-day.
> 
> Here is my [Into the Night Alternate Cover](http://peachycans.tumblr.com/post/165420028068/into-the-night-alternate-cover/) that I was waiting to post, as it relates to this chapter.


	13. Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Mostly) Calm before the storm.

“You know how long I can last, Frank. A few more won’t _hurt.”_

“And as I’ve already said a dozen times, _no._ You’ve had enough.”

Eddie grumbled under his breath, hunching over the empty glass in front of him. The bartender gave him a look of both sympathy and annoyance as he moved to take care of the bottles left at the other end of the counter from his final customers of the night. 

He had half a mind to jump the counter and beat Frank into the floor, but for the wellbeing of both himself and his acquaintance, he refrained. Though the thought lingered, almost tempting him.

A few weeks had gone by since he’d revealed his immortality to Waylon. Their contact within that time had been kept to a minimum—Eddie just couldn’t bring himself to pick up the phone and call.

Waylon, on the other hand, made sure to call at least once every other day. Sometimes he would leave messages for Eddie to read later, but other times the screen of his phone would light up with the notification that he had missed one of his calls.

Eddie had only managed to bring himself to return his calls all of one time, and he hadn’t said much other than a quiet, ‘I love you,’ and a brief ‘Bye’.

Of course he felt terrible. He was weighed down by the absence of Waylon; he couldn’t begin to imagine how Waylon must be feeling as well. He hadn’t come looking for him _yet,_ so it mustn’t be too big of a concern of his. It only made Eddie want to steal that extra drink that much more.

Unfortunately, both Chris and Frank had decided to do the honor of keeping tabs on him throughout the course of the night. If Chris hadn’t been chatting with Frank when he’d walked in at seven o’clock PM, he could’ve been able to weasel a few more drinks out of him. But no; Chris, characteristically, had to stay there and look after his ‘wellbeing’.

Bullshit.

Just as he finally told himself ‘Fuck it’ and stood up to move behind the counter, Chris thrust forward, trapping Eddie’s wrist in one of his massive hands. When Eddie swiveled to shoot Chris an ice-cold glare, he found Chris glaring right back with an intensity of his own. His face was hardened, his eyes narrow.

Both Chris and Eddie knew that if Eddie damn well wanted to, he could easily break free and potentially snap the larger man’s wrist in the process. Chris may have been bigger, but Eddie had been gifted with a severe amount of strength, almost as if to compensate for the initial curse.

If he was still mortal, Chris could’ve easily overpowered him. But he wasn’t. He _wasn’t._

Instead, Eddie waited for Chris let him go. He snapped his hand back, sneering, before turning in his stool to give Eddie what he could only assume was a long, ignorant lecture.

But before Chris could so much as open his mouth, Frank beat him to the punch, “Chris, make sure Ed doesn’t do nothin’ stupid while I’m gone. Gotta start lockin’ up out back,” he said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder before retreating into the backroom of the bar.

It was silent for all of three seconds. Then, Chris spoke.

“Call Waylon, Eddie,” Chris sighed, leaning against the counter beside him. “You can’t just avoid him forever. _Especially_ now.”

Eddie laughed humorlessly, thumping back down into his seat. He kept himself turned away, hoping that Chris would take the hint and stop _talking._

He wasn’t that lucky. Instead, Chris scoffed. “Don’t you _care_ about him, you asshole?”

That put Eddie on-edge. He spun around in his chair, eyes alight in fury. “How the _fuck_ would you know how I-?!”

“How many times do we have to do this, Eddie?” Chris snapped, shoving Eddie back so hard that he nearly toppled over his chair. “You’re acting like a _child!_ Have you even taken a _second_ to consider how Waylon might feel about all of this? Do you even _want_ to go home anymore?!”

That was it. Eddie practically roared as he stood up, knocking his stool back against the hardwood floor. In one swift motion he leaped forward, tackling Chris to the ground before throwing a swift uppercut to the man’s jaw.

He was _done_ with hearing all of their _bullshit_ day in and day out. They knew nothing about him. They knew nothing about how he felt about Waylon. They didn’t know anything about _Waylon,_ they knew _nothing!_

Chris grunted, but otherwise showed no pain as he maneuvered his legs up against his chest. He thrusted forward, kicking Eddie backwards and, more importantly, off of him.

Eddie groaned as his head smacked against the floor, the force of the impact causing a dull throb to pulse against the back of his skull. However, he was back on his feet within seconds. Unfortunately, Chris was, too.

Chris had Eddie tackled against the ground before he even knew what was happening, managing to pin his wrists on either side of his head. His grip wasn’t very tight, but Eddie stopped struggling. He was too tired to fight anymore; he simply stared up at the larger man with the same intensity as before. It was all he could manage.

“No I’m not immortal, no I don’t know how it _‘feels’,”_ Chris snapped, mouth practically frothing. “No, I don’t know what happened that day. No, I don’t know what you went through, but what I _do_ know is that if you keep this up, _neither_ of you will get be free _ever_ again.”

Eddie hissed, fists clenching and unclenching on either side of his head. “You don’t get it, that _bitch_ is never gonna let either of us go, that _fucking-!”_

That gave Chris pause. Eddie shoved him away as soon as his grip loosened, brushing off his dust-covered slacks. He made it a point to walk behind the counter as soon as he was done, snagging a bottle of whiskey off of the top-most shelf before popping the cap off and bringing the rim to his lips.

Chris was still re-orienting himself when he slurred, “Who, Eddie? Who are you talking about?!”

Eddie shook his head, downing almost half of the bottle in one gulp. He let out a satisfied groan, glancing at the label. He had long since decided not to answer the question, no matter who asked it.

“Why won’t you _tell anyone—”_

“Because I’m not _crazy!”_ Eddie roared, throwing the glass against the wall behind the counter. It shattered upon impact, golden brown liquid streaming down the wooden surface of the wall. It was nothing more than white noise as he continued. “I’M NOT _CRAZY!”_

Eddie slammed a fist against the counter, accidentally knocking his knee into a nearby stool in the process. He cursed, struggling to maintain his hold over the counter and stay upright. He wasn’t crazy, she _did this to him_ and no one _ever believed him!_

“Who, Eddie?!” Chris shouted back, features softening if only a little. His attempt was futile, to say the least.

“No,” he slurred, pushing himself off of the counter. He wasn’t going to be persuaded so easily. Chris wouldn’t believe him, Dennis wouldn’t, Waylon wouldn’t, _no one would ever believe him. ‘It was just a dream, just a dream…’_

As Eddie grasped the handle of the front door, he glanced over his shoulder, sighing. “Don’t ask me again.”

And the door slammed shut.

* * *

_> hey eddie, if you’re not too busy, you wanna meet me for lunch?_  
Sent at 10:32

_> you okay?_  
Sent at 11:56

_I’m afraid I’m caught up with another job today. I apologize for the late reply. <_  
Sent at 1:12

_> that’s okay :) are you doing anything tomorrow?_  
Sent at 1:16

_I’ll let you know. <_  
Sent at 7:51

Eddie placed his elbows down on the table in front of him, pressing the palms of his hands over his eyes. He felt horrible for leaving Waylon hanging for so long after everything he’d put him through, and every forgiving reply made pit in his gut grow bigger and bigger. He wanted to see Waylon again, he really did. But…

...It was almost as if he didn’t want to be present for Waylon’s death. The thousands of years had crushed him into a worthless being, wanting nothing to do with Waylon after he reached the age of twenty-three. Even after so many years, he still couldn’t bear to watch while any attempt at saving him proved futile.

It was a nearly impossible task. The _‘nearly’_ was the only thing keeping him from trying once again to off himself; for Waylon, for _them,_ he had to find a way to break the loop. He could never leave Waylon, even if he wanted to.

And he couldn’t avoid him forever.

Which is why it was no surprise when the young blushing bride (and Waylon’s best friend) Lisa came bustling into the shop for the fitting they’d scheduled with Waylon in-tow.

“So it’s all done?” Lisa squealed excitedly, bouncing up and down where she stood.

Eddie offered a small smile, trying to avoid Waylon’s gaze for the time being as he focused on the question asked, “If no alterations need to be made, then yes, the final touches should be a breeze,” said Eddie.

There was once a time in which Eddie had loved to interact with his customers. He rarely if ever gained any enjoyment from interactions with them now, but the look on Lisa’s face was enough to put him at ease, if only for a moment. If there was one thing he had never quite grown to hate, it was the excitement radiating from his clients when he showed them the finished product.

“Sweet! Before we get to that though, do you have a bathroom I can use? Chugged a one-liter soda bottle on my way here,” Lisa asked, and although the question was innocent enough, Eddie could easily see what she was trying to do.

“TMI Lis,” Waylon mumbled from behind, avoiding Eddie’s gaze.

Eddie looked back to Lisa, nodding, “There’s one at the back right corner of the store,” he said, rubbing his temples.

“Thanks!” she replied quickly, double-timing it towards the back of the store.

As soon as both men heard the sound of the bathroom door clicking shut, they finally managed to face one another. 

Waylon, seemingly braver than Eddie in that moment, gave him a small, sympathetic smile. “Hey, Eddie.”

Immediately Eddie sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “Look, Waylon, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t—just, stop,” Waylon sighed, shifting on his heels. He took a deep breath, then continued. “It’s fine. You’re busy, and things have been… well, hard on you…”

Eddie shook his head, closing the distance between them before pressing a quick peck to Waylon’s lips, “No. I’ve simply been a coward, darling,” Eddie explained, taking the smaller man’s forearms into his hands. “I’ve had a lot on my mind as of late.”

“Eddie, really, it’s _fine,”_ said Waylon, bringing their lips together for another brief kiss before gesturing over Eddie’s shoulder. “She really did chug that whole soda on the way here, by the way.”

Eddie grumbled, earning a small laugh from Waylon. He placed a hand on Eddie’s cheek, sighing. “Although I would have loved it if you’d have talked to me instead of forcing her to drag me here. I didn’t want to bother you if you were upset.”

“Things have been… complicated,” Eddie explained, casting his gaze to the floor.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” Waylon chuckled, pressing closer to Eddie. “You _know_ that, right? I mean, you told me your real age and fucked me on a two-hundred year old couch and I haven't dumped you _yet.”_

Eddie allowed himself a small laugh, gently pushing Waylon away from his chest as he heard the bathroom door re-open, “I don’t plan on going anywhere, either,” he said softly, turning to face the sound of clicking footsteps behind him.

“So,” Lisa clapped, grinning up at Eddie. “Where’s the dress?”

The fitting went by relatively smooth. The dress fit Lisa like a glove; Eddie was glad she hadn’t turned out to be one of the many young brides he’d come across who told him to make the dress smaller than their measurements because they planned to ‘diet’ before the big wedding.

Everyone felt that they could relax once the final adjustments were made. The wedding had gained on all of them so fast; the gowns were done, the final preparations were underway, but there was still one more request Eddie felt daring enough to make.

“If I’m not mistaken, Waylon is supposed to be the groom’s man of honor, yes?” Eddie asked, glancing down to Lisa as she finished up the last of the paperwork.

She nodded, giving Eddie a small smile. “Yeah. It’s not a wedding without our best friend on the front lines,” she laughed, earning a small groan from Waylon where he stood a few feet away. “Why?”

“The day you came here to commission your gowns, I’d noticed Waylon had taken interest in one of the suits on display near the back,” he said, shooting Waylon a wicked grin as he continued. “The color I’d used on that suit matches the one used on your bridesmaid gowns. I thought he could wear it to your wedding—with your permission, of course.”

Lisa paused for a short moment, glancing over her shoulder at Waylon. His face was bright red, and he was avoiding looking at either of them.

“Absolutely,” Lisa said almost instantly, turning back to Eddie. “Can I see it?”

Eddie led them both to the display in the back of the room. All of the suits had been switched out and rotated since then—but not Waylon’s suit.

“Aw, it’s so cute! Sure, sure! Whatever you want,” Lisa nodded, running a hand along the pressed fabric.

“Sure, no one ask me, that’s fine,” Waylon grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

Lisa swiveled on her heels, “Are you objecting?” she shot back, piquing a brow.

“...”

“Mhm,” she hummed, narrowing her eyes. “No matter how hard you bitch and moan, Waylon, you can’t deny; your boyfriend’s got _class._

Waylon’s face lit up as soon as she said it, turning around and shuffling back towards the front of the store and away from the gaze of his tormentors. Lisa rolled her eyes, turning back to Eddie. “Well, the last stop is the wedding.”

“I’m sure it’ll be spectacular,” he replied.

“There’s still so much to do,” Lisa sighed, hefting her purse over her shoulder. “Well, I should probably get back to it. Thank you very much _Mr. Gluskin,”_ said Lisa, glancing over to Waylon next. “You want me to give you a ride home, or are you staying here, Way?”

Waylon’s eyes locked onto Eddie’s. When Eddie offered him a small, devious smile in response, he turned back to Lisa. “I’ll stay.”

“Cool,” she waved, making her way towards the exit. “Have a nice afternoon, boys.”

She was gone in almost an instant, the faint chime of the bell still audible even after the door had already closed. Eddie let out a long breath, fiddling with the ankle of the suit beside him.

“Fuck you,” Eddie heard Waylon mumble behind his back before arms wrapped around his torso.

“Later darling,” Eddie retorted, snorting. “Do you not like it?”

“No! It’s nice, I just…” he mumbled, letting out a soft sigh. “I don’t want to stand out.”

“You’re wearing colors according to the wedding,” Eddie pointed out, shifting so that he could place his hands over Waylon’s waist. “You won’t stand out if you don’t want to. The colors will blend you right in with the crowd; you’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, but didn’t Dennis say something about their being a veil that went with it?” Waylon asked, cheeks redder than ever.

“Well, if you _want_ to stand out I can go get it for you—”

“ _No,”_ said Waylon, voice hard.

Eddie chuckled. “That’s for the best. We would want to save it for _after_ the ceremony…”

“Asshole,” said Waylon, shoving Eddie away. “But on a more serious note, I really do want to know what’s going on. I know you, and I know you weren’t just busy with work this week.”

Eddie pressed his lips together, saying nothing.

Waylon’s brows lowered. “Stop bottling shit up, Eddie,” he stammered, fists clenching by his sides. “I get it, no one understands who you are or what you do, including me, but I can’t _try_ if you don’t let me _help you._ And that means talking to me when you’re upset about something that _clearly_ has to do with what happened the other week.”

Eddie tried to keep his growing anger down to a minimum as he took several deep breaths, attempting to collect his thoughts and say something that wasn’t jumbled words or enraged screaming. “I don’t want you to… I’m fine darling, really.”

“No,” said Waylon, poking his chest. “You’re _not.”_

Eddie snatched the offending hand, but his grip wasn’t tight. “Everything is _fine._ I just had a little spat with my colleagues over the weekend, there is absolutely _nothing_ to worry about.”

“Do they know?” Waylon asked, keeping his hand right where it was in Eddie’s fist. He didn’t even attempt to escape.

Eddie glanced down, finally regaining the common sense to let Waylon go. He cursed, running a hand through his hair. “Two of them, yes.”

“Dennis?”

“Yes.”

“And they think you’re crazy, right?” said Waylon, voice low. “Do you… want to talk about it? Tell me what happened?”

Eddie paused, thinking the question over. He hadn’t really pictured telling Waylon his inner-most secret of exactly how he’d become immortal on the year he was supposed to die in the middle of the day in the back of a tiny store. Hell, he’d never planned to tell Waylon to _begin_ with.

“Not now,” he finally managed, taking Waylon’s hands into his own. “When we’re both ready; I promise.”

Waylon hummed, rolling his eyes. “I’m always ready for another reality-breaking revelation, Eddie.”

“I think I’ve had enough of those to last me a lifetime,” he grumbled under his breath.

“Ha-ha, funny.”

“Let me make it up to you,” Eddie continued, clutching Waylon’s hands tighter. “Let me take you to lunch. Are you busy?”

“Yeah, I just let Lisa leave me here because I enjoy walking seven miles to my house,” Waylon said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Anything for you, Eddie. But we’re going to get fast-food, and I know one of the reasons you blew me off is because you hate it.”

Eddie was about to deny the accusation, but just the look on Waylon’s face alone was enough to remind him that he knew almost everything about him by now, including his distaste for fast-food products. Instead he deflated, allowing Waylon to drag him towards the front entrance.

He had barely finished locking the front door before Waylon was throwing another jab at him. “Would getting the most expensive item on the menu make you feel better? It can be like an _imitation_ of high-class food.”

“You make me sound so pretentious.”

“Anyone who hates fast-food for a quick lunch has something wrong with them, okay? I don’t make the rules,” said Waylon, hands raised as he followed Eddie to his car in the back of the parking lot.

Eddie opened the passenger door for Waylon, lightly flicking the man’s nose as he attempted to duck down into the car. “I think you _did.”_

Before Waylon could reply, he closed the door, drowning out any comeback the smaller man may or not have for him. As long as he was with him, he couldn’t care about anything else.

And the place didn’t matter. Even if it was a fast-food joint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally back with another chapter and the regular update schedule will continue (For the most part). There are only four chapters left from here, including the epilogue.


	14. Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie and Waylon attend Lisa's wedding.

“Fuck. Lisa’s getting _married.”_

“Well, yes. She’s been engaged for almost a year now, hasn’t she?”

Waylon groaned, sinking further into the plush cushions of the couch. He’d already showered, put on a pair of pajama bottoms, a white t-shirt and an orange hoodie, and was feeling just about ready for bed. It was getting late—almost midnight to be exact—yet he couldn’t find it in him to want to fall asleep.

It was still so hard for him to comprehend that _Lisa,_ one of his best friends of all time, was about to get _married._ She had dated her fiancé for years sure, lived with him for two, and had decided to tie the knot almost a year ago. Hell, even Waylon himself had become great friends with the guy. But now that the day had finally come…

…almost. The wedding itself was to take place at three o’clock the next afternoon.

Which is why he’d decided to crash at Eddie’s place that night. They were both going to the same place in the same car anyway, and Waylon was already well-acquainted with the house.

Waylon felt a strong pair of arms wrap themselves around his shoulders, pulling him back into gentle warmth. He tilted his head backwards, unsurprised to find Eddie staring down at him with a cheshire-like grin.

“Come to bed?” he asked, rubbing Waylon’s shoulders, thumbs pressing into the crook of his neck. “You feel tense, darling.”

“Mhm,” Waylon hummed, stretching his arms over his head. “Carry me?”

That earned him a drawn-out roll of the eyes, but soon enough Eddie removed his wonderful hands from his neck and maneuvered himself around the couch. In one swift motion, he leaned down, scooping Waylon up and into his arms.

Waylon yawned, resigning himself to slump against Eddie’s chest, eyes fluttering shut. He felt as the other man pressed a small kiss to his forehead, cracking an eye open, “I know that sounded super provocative, but I feel that I should let you know ahead of time that I’m way too tired to be able to properly engage in any _strenuous activity_ right now.”

“I see that,” Eddie chuckled, walking down to the end of the hall before nudging the bedroom door open with his knee. “It’s late, and you have a big day ahead of you tomorrow.”

 _“We_ have a big day ahead of us,” said Waylon, emphasizing the ‘we’. “—and when has _that_ ever stopped you?”

Eddie rolled his eyes a second time, kicking the comforter out of the way before tossing Waylon down onto the mess of sheets below, “You’re no better,” he pointed out, kicking off his slippers before climbing into bed opposite Waylon.

In seconds, Waylon felt as the preciously discarded comforter was tossed over his head. He curled into the sheets, groaning.

The light flickered off, but not before Eddie responded with a sharp, _“What?”_

Waylon curled further into the sheets, letting out a soft groan, “Cold…” he mumbled, shivering.

There was no response. Waylon rolled over, unable to determine Eddie’s exact position on the large king-size bed as he tried reaching his arms out to find him, “Eddiiiiiiiie,” Waylon whined, only to find empty space in front of him.

In less than a second Waylon felt large hands snatch up waist, drawing a faint yelp from his lips before he felt Eddie’s chest flush with his cheek. Eddie then wrapped his arms around Waylon’s middle, effectively muffling any further whining.

“Yay,” Waylon tried to say, only to have the word muffled by his mouth smothered against the fabric of Eddie’s t-shirt.

 _“Sleep,”_ Eddie commanded, shifting the position of his legs to tangle in between Waylon’s.

Waylon was already snoring.

* * *

“I still don’t understand why you want to change inside the chapel instead of at home,” Eddie sighed from the driver’s seat of the car, keeping one hand on the wheel as gave Waylon a brief glance.

He had already dressed himself in a hand-made tuxedo suit, dress shirt, bowtie, waistcoat and slacks. Waylon found that it wasn’t far off from the man’s usual attire, minus the jacket. The jacket threw _everything_ off.

Waylon, on the other hand, had placed the suit Eddie had given him in the backseat of the car. Now, he was wearing nothing but the same hoodie as the night before and loose black jeans. He was bouncing in his seat, fueled by the overwhelming anticipation of the ceremony to come.

“It’s bad luck to see the bride in her dress before the ceremony,” Waylon explained, tapping his hands against his thighs in time with the music playing faintly throughout the car.

“Darling, you’re not the bride,” said Eddie, glancing over to show Waylon the full extent of his exasperation.

Waylon smirked faintly, holding up both of his hands. On his right ring finger sat the golden band. On the left, his ring finger held the snake, his middle finger sported the chain of vines, and his index finger, the band of rubies.

“I _was.”_

Waylon could visibly see Eddie’s heart sink, turning to stare back at the busy road ahead of them. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, taking slow, deep breaths. Suddenly, Waylon regretted his words.

Before he could apologize, Eddie sighed, “We were _engaged,”_ he said slowly, loosening his grip on the steering wheel. “We were never close enough to the actual day to consider ourselves a groom and a bride.”

“Did you not want to get married because I kept turning into a wrinkly old man while you maintained your…” he paused, waving a hand over Eddie. “…Devilish appearance?”

Eddie’s hands tightened against the wheel once more. “No.”

“What do I look like as an old man, anyway?”

Eddie sucked in a breath, lips thinning as he kept his mouth shut. Waylon knew now that he was holding something back. Something important.

“Was I really that bad?” he continued, raising a brow. “Do I end up with some kind of age deformity or something?”

“I—I don’t _know.”_

“What do you _mean_ you don’t know?”

Eddie hit the brakes, hard. Waylon felt his body lurch forward, but the seatbelt over his chest kept him firmly in place. He was about to give Eddie his two cents until he heard another long, drawn-out sigh.

“Today isn’t the day for this, Waylon,” Eddie sighed, avoiding Waylon’s gaze. He put the car in park, averting his eyes by distracting himself with pulling the emergency brake back up.

To Waylon’s surprise, Eddie’s eyes appeared glossy as he proceeded. “Let’s just… enjoy the day while it lasts. As soon as its over, we can go back to dealing with our problems. Is that alright?”

Waylon gulped, nodding. “That sounds… fair.”

Eddie gave him a small smile, turning the car engine off. He quickly stepped out of the vehicle, waiting for Waylon to follow his lead. 

As soon as Waylon was out, he clambered into the back seat, grabbing his suit while making sure to hold it by the hanger. He didn’t want it to wrinkle, and it looked expensive as hell…

He trailed behind Eddie as they proceeded into the building, eyes flickering around the main entrance to watch the bustle of people as everyone prepared for the ceremony. There was only one hour left until they began, and the obvious lack of Lisa’s presence in the main hall was putting Waylon on-edge.

“You should probably change,” Eddie spoke up from his side, placing a hand against the small of his back.

“Yeah,” Waylon mumbled, holding up his suit. He then looked to Eddie, eyes wide. “So… see you in an hour?”

“An hour,” Eddie reassured, clutching Waylon’s hand in his own. Slowly, he brought it to his lips, leaving a gentle kiss against the back of his hand. “Now go.” 

The mischievous smirk on Eddie’s lips gave him the spark of confidence he needed, hurrying off in the opposite direction of the chapel in search of a room to change in. He trailed down the hall, glancing both left and right, but finding nothing of intrest.

The first door he spotted seemed like a safe enough place to change up, so he closed the door behind him, completely unaware of the other presence in the room.

“Hey, look who it is!”

Before Waylon could process what was happening, he felt a hand clap him harshly on his back, turning around only to be met with the wild gaze of one Miles Upshur.

“Jesus, Miles!” Waylon whisper-shouted, rubbing the sore spot on his back. “I thought this room was empty-!”

Miles laughed, “Then take a better look around next time, eh?” he said, plopping down onto a nearby sofa.

“Well, I’m changing, so—”

“Pft, go right ahead,” said Miles, grinning like the devil before looking down and beginning to pick at his own fingernails.

Waylon grumbled under his breath. He didn’t want to look for a different room and just so happen to stumble in on other people getting ready… and it wasn’t like Miles _cared…_

“What are you doing in here, anyway?” Waylon asked, tugging his hoodie up and over his head. He tossed his suit over a wooden chair beside him, letting his clothes fall to the floor before beginning to pull each separate piece of the suit off of its hanger.

“Making a salad,” Miles replied sarcastically, stretching his arms over the back of the couch. “Hiding, duh. Steve’s been hounding my ass ever since I got here, and Lisa wouldn’t stop fidgeting with the suit,” he explained, tugging on the black fabric covering his chest.

At the mention of Lisa, Waylon paused. “How’s Lisa doing, anyway? Where is she?”

“Her mom and her sister took her off for some ‘final preparations’ or some junk like that,” Miles huffed, flourishing a dismissive hand. “Nothing I want to get involved with.”

Waylon hummed without further comment. As he changed into his suit, he tried to remember their schedule for the rest of the day. First—the ceremony. Then pictures, then the reception. Simple enough.

That was when he remembered. His speech.

Waylon felt his forehead with the back of his hand as the beginnings of sweat began building up just below his hairline. He shook his head in an attempt to ignore the building sense of dread creeping up over his shoulder as he tried to remember the speech he’d been preparing for the reception party. He was the groom’s best man, after all.

He could freak out when the time came. For now, they had a wedding to get on with.

“Nice suit,” Miles pitched in once Waylon finished assembling the final touches of Eddie’s suit.

“Thanks. Eddie made it,” said Waylon, adjusting the collar of his shirt.

“Oh, speaking of him,” Miles began, which was immediately followed by a long, drawn-out groan from Waylon.

Miles shoved Waylon’s shoulder. “Oh, calm down. I just wanted to know if you finally got everything sorted out with him from before, like, y’know… the lying…”

“It’s fine, Miles. We’re good,” Waylon huffed. “Everything is just peachy.”

“Cool, cool, so anyways…” Miles continued, leaning over the stand-up mirror Waylon was looking into. “I mean, if you want anyone to share your thoughts with, or like, vent or whatever, I’m right here, so—”

“You gossip whore,” said Waylon, rolling his eyes. “You just want to get more dirt on him.”

Miles brought a hand to his chest, scoffing. “Waylon! Who do you take me for?”

“A stalker,” Waylon said, coughing into his hand.

“Fuck you.”

“C’mon, lets go,” Waylon commanded, tugging on the sleeve of Miles’ jacket as he headed back towards the door.

“But we still have to wait another forty minutes for the ceremony! Can’t we hide out for just a _little_ while longer?” Miles pleaded, attempting to stop Waylon, but to no avail.

Waylon shook his head, opening the door. “No, because I’m sure there are tons of lovely mothers and aunts here today who’d just _love_ trying to set their kids up with you.”

“Oh, fuck that, man!”

* * *

It didn’t take long to spot Eddie in the crowd.

He was standing in the second pew back off to the right, hands folded neatly in front of him as the door opened. He towered over all of the people surrounding him, which of course made him an easy target.

Everyone’s eyes were trained on Lisa and her father as he escorted her down the aisle, her magnificent gown flowing in an elegant train behind her. Eddie really had done a spectacular job on it; even looking over at the bridesmaids dressed up in their own matching attire, even _they_ had a flare that Waylon couldn’t believe.

And as Lisa’s husband-to-be lifted the veil from her beautiful face, Waylon felt a warmth spread throughout his chest at the sight of two people so in love with one another. They looked entranced; was that what he looked like when he looked at Eddie, too?

As the crowd sat back down, Waylon’s eyes flickered over to Eddie’s seat. He was still looking towards the bride and the groom, but as another moment passed, he began staring at Waylon instead.

Waylon felt a blush spread down his neck as he gave his boyfriend a small, reassuring smile before turning back towards the center of the room where the officiant began his opening remarks.

What Waylon thought would take forever seemed to pass by within seconds. He wasn’t sure how much time had gone by before Lisa and her fiancé were exchanging rings, holding onto one another as soon as they’d finished.

It seemed as though he had only blinked, and the now husband and wife were kissing. Everyone stood and clapped, and suddenly the entire chapel erupted into a large wave of cheering and applause.

Lisa and her new husband walked down the aisle together, practically tripping over themselves in the process, and Waylon couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. He felt that same bubble of warmth from before spread throughout his chest—at least, until he spared another glance at Eddie to find him clapping, but a deep frown seemed to have carved its way onto the man’s face.

Waylon was confused for half a second before his remembered the rings he wore on his own fingers.

If felt as though his stomach had dropped to the floor within that next passing second. How many weddings had Eddie attended throughout his life? How many wedding gowns had he made? How much of that had he endured, thinking of nothing but Waylon, and how it was the one thing he’d never been able to have with him?

Waylon felt the tears welling up at the corners of his eyes before he could stop them, attempting to force them back down to the best of his ability. He wasn’t going to cry at Lisa’s wedding; he wouldn’t—but oh, how he wanted to curl up against the floor and bawl right then and there.

Maybe bringing Eddie wasn’t such a good idea after all…

Suddenly, Waylon was startled from his thoughts by a hand coming to rest against his back.

“Are you alright?” Eddie whispered into Waylon’s ear, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“M’fine…” Waylon mumbled, his thumb brushing over the snake-like ring by his side. He blinked, looking up to Eddie with a small smile. “Lisa just wants pictures with the bridesmaids and the groomsmen, so…”

“Then you should probably get to it,” Eddie chuckled, guiding Waylon down the aisle where most guests had already left.

Photos, reception, speech. That was all he had left to worry about.

And then they could go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's pretty short, but its all building up to the finale chapters coming up next.


	15. Crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crash.

“Alright everyone, get closer together… closer, Brinley. Lisa, can you look more towards the camera for me, please? Closer, Waylon!”

Everyone was packed together in a straight line as the photographer gave them all a look that told them she was satisfied enough with their placements. On the left stood the groomsmen, the right the bridesmaids, and the bride and the groom themselves were in the center of the group, hands intertwined.

_‘Last photo of the day,’_ Waylon continued telling himself with a small smile. Most of their guests had already headed off to the venue for the reception, located within the heart of the city.

Waylon was already feeling a bit hungry, so when the photographer finally dismissed them, he made a beeline straight to his boyfriend who’d been waiting patiently at the other end of the field. He’d been sitting in that same exact spot for the last twenty minutes.

It was only when he climbed back into Eddie’s car and they were on the road did Waylon begin to feel nervous again. As soon as everyone was at the venue and in their seats, they would almost certainly start the speeches. And he would have to remember what he’d written, without stuttering, in front of all of those people…

Waylon didn’t bother hiding how he felt anymore now that there was no one left but Eddie to see him flounder. He began clenching and unclenching his fists over his lap, sweat beading against his skin, leg bouncing up and down against the floor of the car.

Eddie glanced in his direction, brows lowered. “Darling, are you alright?”

Waylon placed a hand against his forehead, breathing in and out, in and out, “I’m not ready for this,” he wheezed, leg drumming even faster.

“For… what…?”

“I’m the best man, Eddie,” Waylon explained, closing his eyes before letting out a long, exaggerated exhale. “I have to give a _speech.”_

Eddie hummed lowly, keeping one hand on the wheel as he moved the other to turn down the volume on the radio. “Do you have one prepared?”

“Yeah, but I’m horrible at remembering things under pressure, and I have to say it in front of… _everyone…”_ he shuddered, shrugging his shoulders up to his ears.

“Would you like to practice, now?” Eddie asked, glancing back over to Waylon once they’d reached a stoplight.

“Uhm… well, okay…” said Waylon, taking another deep breath before clearing his throat. “H-hi! For those of you who don't know who I am, my name is Waylon. I've known Aaron since we were freshman in college, and he was just all around a great guy. He gave me a ride to work every day while my car was getting fixed sophomore year, let me stay over the apartment he shared with Lisa when I was looking for a house senior year, and didn’t even murder me in my sleep when my snoring woke him up.”

Eddie chuckled as the light turned green. Waylon, already feeling much more confident than before, continued, “And Lisa’s been right there by my side, too. Lisa, thanks for not giving up on me when I said I wanted to quit my major. You're the best. And thanks to everyone who worked hard to make this all possible; how about a toast to the bride and the groom?” he finished, letting out a short huff of relief. “Was… was that okay?”

“It’s long enough to come from the heart and short enough to keep your audience focused; it’s a good speech, Waylon,” Eddie praised, giving Waylon a warm smile. “You’ll do great.”

Waylon blushed, pulling at the collar of his shirt. “I hope so.”

“You _will,”_ said Eddie. “I know you will.”

He didn’t bother to say anything else after that. Waylon was fine with that; he sunk back into his seat, trying to take deep, calming breaths as they slowly but surely approached the venue. The speeches were only one small part of the reception, after all; all he had to do was get through speech, and then he’d be fine for the rest of the night.

He’d be fine.

* * *

As soon as Lisa and Aaron entered the venue, Waylon felt himself sweating again.

Once everyone was in their seats, the catering staff brought out starters for their meals, which Waylon dug into faster than necessary. Miles let out a snort as Waylon shoved a whole breadstick into his mouth out of nervousness, Eddie’s hand rubbing his back.

About ten minutes in, someone grabbed a microphone off of one of the speakers, tapping it to make sure it was working properly. Waylon felt just about ready to melt into goo as he turned to stare terrified over at the designated MC.

Upon closer inspection, Waylon found the one holding the microphone to be Steve, grinning lazily towards the groom and the bride’s table as he opened his mouth, “Hey everyone, thanks for coming out tonight. Before we start with the entrees, I think it's about time for a few speeches, yeah?” he asked, gesturing out at the array of tables for some sort of response from the crowd.

A few people hollered and another few clapped, and it seemed for Steve as he brought the microphone back up, “Alrighty then. Why don’t we get the best man up here first then?” he announced, gesturing for Waylon to come up to the front.

In that moment, with everyone in the room staring at him, Waylon felt as if he were being suffocated. His hands trembled against the table as he tried to stand, nearly tripping over the legs of his chair when he attempted to move out of the way.

He felt Eddie’s hand intertwine with his own seconds later, tugging him back. Waylon looked down to find Eddie staring at him kindly, bringing Waylon’s hand up to his lips for the second time that day.

Waylon felt his cheeks burn up at the sight. Everyone in the venue was _watching them,_ and he was _mortified._ But then, Waylon’s legs stopped trembling, his hands stopped shaking, and moments later, when Eddie’s hand left his, he felt that he’d managed to calm down just enough to carry out the speech.

Waylon rushed up to the front, taking the microphone from Steve once he handed it over to him. When Steve backed off the stage, Waylon finally dared to stare back out at the crowd, glancing between both Miles and Eddie the most.

Miles pumped a fist by his side, grinning over at him while Eddie gave him a small, gentle smile, nodding. Waylon looked over the sea of people before taking a deep breath.

“…Hi. For those of you who don’t know who I am…”

Everything else he’d said within his speech passed by in a hazy blur. All Waylon remembered was his voice cracking when he’d said his name, and a small wave of chuckles coming from somewhere else in the room halfway through his speech.

He practically ran back to his table after suggesting the groom’s father come up to say a few words. As soon as the microphone was in the older man’s hands, Waylon rushed back to his table, heart pounding as he plopped down into his seat.

“You were fine, Waylon!” Miles said from beside him, clapping a hand against Waylon’s shoulder. “It was good!”

“You did wonderfully, darling,” said Eddie next, placing a hand atop Waylon’s own.

Their sound of their voices talking to him was nothing more than muffled chatter to Waylon’s ears, his own heart thumping louder than any other soundwave in the room. All he could focus on was how glad he was that that hard part was finally over.

He spent the rest of their downtime attempting to calm himself while more and more people were called up to speak. With Eddie’s thumb brushing over the back of his hand in slow circles and Miles’ attempts at small talk between speakers, Waylon finally felt the tension leave his shoulders, his breaths coming out a lot easier than before.

After Aaron gave his own speech to Lisa, he thanked the crowd for coming, sat back down, and suddenly caterers were everywhere piling their tables with food. Waylon couldn’t bring himself to complain all that much as he filled his plate to the brim, digging in just after downing all of the wine that’d been poured into his glass.

The meal was rather peaceful once everyone was settled in. Some of the other guests sharing the table with them started speaking up, one even complimenting Waylon on his speech. It felt… nice, being able to talk to people without the fear of collapse looming over his shoulder.

Eddie ate slowly beside him, giving Waylon small, subtle looks every now and then. Waylon noticed that the other people at the table were giving Eddie strange looks; Eddie didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he was clearly trying to ignore it. 

He was probably used to it by now, people staring at his scars. No one bothered asking about them, and they didn’t seem to mind afterwards once Eddie tried striking up a conversation.

Waylon was jealous over how good Eddie was when it came to basic human communication. _He’d_ been a nervous wreck all of his life, and at this point he didn’t think that was something that was going to change anytime soon.

He didn’t bother filling up his wine glass again after the first chug. After that Waylon only asked the caterers for water, wanting to stay relatively sober by the end of the night. That was, he could still have some more fun with Eddie _after_ they left the reception.

By the end of the meal, Waylon found himself in a much better mood. The dance floor opened up to Lisa and Aaron as soon as the majority of the crowd was done with their meals, and some people began gathering closer to the edge of the tables to get a better view of their first dance as newlyweds.

Waylon didn’t recognize their song of choice as they danced with one another, only that it was a slow song that allowed them to rest against one another and sway along to the music without any sudden movements. 

When the first dance was over and the crowd was finished clapping, the floor opened up to the other guests as well. Miles left them to join the mess of bodies and limbs, disappearing into the sea. The mood of the music was beginning to turn over to a more passionate, upbeat genre.

That was when Waylon tried persuading Eddie to get up and dance with him.

Waylon still didn’t recognize any of the songs they were playing, but that didn’t stop him from trying to pull Eddie out of his seat through sheer force. “Come on Eddie, why don’t you wanna dance?”

“You can go up darling, I’ll stay here,” Eddie said, gesturing for Waylon to join the crowd.

“But it won’t be any fun without you…” Waylon pouted, arms crossed over his chest as he slumped back into his seat

He would accept the defeat for what it was. He didn’t want to pressure Eddie into dancing when he still wasn’t sure how the man felt about being at the wedding in the first place. At least, not until he finally recognized one of the songs.

“Eddie,” Waylon hissed excitedly, tugging hard on the other man’s sleeve. “Eddie. No, no, we _have_ to dance to this one.”

“Waylon—” Eddie began, but Waylon silenced him with a finger as the intro to the song transitioned into the first verse.

“Is it because you can’t dance?” Waylon tried, grinning when he received a frustrated grunt from Eddie. “The old man never learned to dance, huh?”

Eddie grunted louder, crossing his arms over his chest. Waylon huffed, trying harder. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to find Miles and dance with him instead. Y’know, someone who can actually _dance…”_

Just as Waylon began moving away from the table, he felt Eddie grab his wrist in a vice-like hold. Waylon grinned even wider, enjoying the pure frustration looming over Eddie’s features as the older man tugged him out onto the dance floor. They’d already missed the beginning verse of the song, but they could make do with what was there.

_You're grown, so grown up! So grown, so grown up! Now I must say more than ever… come on Eileen! Toora, loora, toora, loorye, aye! And we can sing just like our fathers…!_

Eddie held Waylon’s hand with his right, his left against Waylon’s waist as they swayed to the tempo of the song. Waylon placed his free hand atop Eddie’s shoulder, grinning like an idiot as they danced through the chorus.

_Come on Eileen, oh I swear, what he means! At this moment, you mean everything! You in that dress, my thoughts I confess, verge on dirty! Ah, come on Eileen!_

Waylon raised a brow, and even though Eddie continued to frown, he could feel him loosening up as they started to move faster. “Is that all you’ve got? Really?”

Eddie snarled through a growing grin, releasing Waylon in favor of sliding backwards, offering his hand out to Waylon once more.

_These people 'round here... wear beat down eyes sunk in smoke dried faces, they're resigned to what their fate is!_

Waylon followed Eddie’s lead, taking a step back before twirling back into his arms, Eddie’s hands coming to rest against his hips. Seconds later they split apart, held together only by their hands outstretched to hold one another’s.

_But not us, no never! No not us, no never! We are far too young and clever! Remember! Toora, loora, toora, loorye, aye! Eileen I'll hum this tune forever!_

They were back to their original dance, but only for a few moments. Eddie grasped Waylon by the hips, spinning him in a full circle before their hands linked with one another’s, and then they were back into the beat of the song.

Waylon almost felt like they should’ve belonged on some sort of dance-off show in that moment. As they moved through the next chorus, Waylon swore he heard Miles holler from somewhere nearby, but if it was directed at them, he wouldn’t know. He stared up at Eddie, allowing him to twirl him every which way.

_Please…_

Eddie had moved away from Waylon, this time with one hand resting against his hip. Waylon grinned, mimicking the pose before they began to walk, this time much slower, around each other.

_Come on! Eileen, tooloo rye aye, Come on! Eileen, tooloo rye aye! Now you're full grown, now you have shown! Oh, Eileen!_

As Waylon circled back around, he couldn’t help but notice the lack of people to bump into. He spared a quick glance nearby to find the crowd slowly but surely moving out of their way, mostly due to Lisa, who seemed to be pushing them back.

Waylon felt a small flare of panic rise up within him at the thought of so many people watching them dance, but as soon as he was back to staring into Eddie’s eyes, it felt as if nothing else mattered.

_Said, come on Eileen! These things they are real! And I know how you feel… Now I must say more than ever! Things round here have changed, I say, toora loora, toora, loorye aye!_

Once they were within each other’s grasp, Eddie wrapped an arm around Waylon’s waist, turning him around so they were chest-to-chest. It was calming, having that warmth and that security against him, sharing a moment as intimate as they were in front of an entire reception.

Waylon felt a twinge of guilt at stealing the spotlight from the groom and the bride, but one quick look over at Lisa was enough to tell him that she didn’t mind in the slightest. In fact, Lisa, Aaron, and Miles had all had begun clapping in time with the slower beat, urging the two dancers forward.

The tempo had picked up faster than he’d expected, because suddenly Eddie was twirling him, _fast._ He was almost certain that he’d collapse, but then Eddie hefted him up to his side, spinning on his heel.

_‘Jesus_ christ,’ Was the first thing on Waylon’s mind the second he was lifted off of the floor, eyes widening as Eddie then scooped him up under his legs, maneuvering him in a way Waylon couldn’t even begin to describe before his feet were planted firmly on the floor, and the chorus started back up again.

They started dancing normally for the finale, but not before the people crowded around them hooted and hollered, even more walking over onto the dance floor to join them. Waylon was already more than exhausted, so he was thankful for the crowd to cover it up.

_Come on Eileen, oh I swear, what he means! At this moment, you mean everything! You in that dress, my thoughts I confess, verge on dirty! Ah, come on Eileen!_

_Come on Eileen, oh I swear, what he means! At this moment, you mean everything! You in that dress, my thoughts I confess, verge on dirty! Ah, come on Eileen!_

Waylon was so entranced, he hardly noticed when Eddie’s hands grasped his waist, preventing him from moving any further as the song _finally_ ended.

“Holy _fuck!”_

Waylon panted heavily, legs shaking beneath him as both Miles and Lisa stormed over to them.

“What the hell was _that?!”_ “I didn’t know you could dance like that!” “Can you do that _again?”_ the two began frantically, completely out of breath themselves.

“Hell… _no…”_ Waylon wheezed, clutching at his chest and gasping for air.

Eddie chuckled, giving Waylon a firm pat on the back before helping him back to their table. “I think we’ll sit out the next few songs.”

Lisa nodded, already walking back into the crowd with Miles. “Who needs to hire entertainment at a venue when you could have _that…?”_

Eddie didn’t seem to be paying much attention to their distant mumbling anymore. As the next song began and their guests went back to flooding the dance floor, Eddie helped Waylon back over to their table, the two of them plopping down as soon as their chairs were behind them.

“Remind me _never_ to goad you on _ever again,”_ Waylon panted, fanning himself with his own hand.

Eddie shook his head, reaching for the glass of wine he’d left behind, “Remind _me_ to never humor _you_ ever again,” he mumbled, bringing the glass up to his lips.

Waylon shot forward before Eddie could take a drink, grasping his hand tightly and pressing their lips together.

He grinned into the kiss as Eddie stared back wide-eyed. After a few more seconds of pure bliss, Waylon leaned back, slowly licking his lips. “God—I’m in love with you, Eddie Gluskin. I’m so _fucking_ in love.”

Eddie looked just as dumb-stuck after the sentiment, but after a few more seconds of silence between them, he began to smile. As carefully as he could, Eddie leaned forward, slotting their lips together.

Once both men were thoroughly out of breath, Eddie leaned back into his seat, finally allowed to take a sip of his wine. As soon as he’d finished off the glass, he gave Waylon another smile. “Would you like to wait for a slow song, then?”

* * *

It was getting late.

Waylon yawned from where he was pressed up against Eddie’s chest, cheek nestled into the man’s dress shirt. He didn’t bother searching for a clock to display the time, nor did he care to identify the song they were swaying too. All he knew was that it was slow and quiet; just the way he wanted it.

They’d cut the cake at least an hour before, but Waylon could hardly remember it anymore. He’d had two slices that’d put him on a sugar high for a good twenty minutes, and now that he was finally coming down from said high, that coupled with the exhaustion of their earlier dance was finally taking its toll on him.

“Come on guys, we’re gonna toss the bouquet!”

Waylon blinked wearily from where he stood, tilting his chin to look up at his boyfriend. He didn’t care about all of the other people moving past them towards Lisa and her husband, Lisa holding out both a garter and a bouquet to their guests.

Eddie took Waylon’s hand in his own, pulling him from his quiet slumber before guiding him over to the people who’d gathered away from the men waiting for Lisa to toss the garter, and the women waiting for the bouquet.

“Eddie?” Waylon mumbled, hand still planted against Eddie’s chest.

Eddie glanced down at him just as Lisa threw the garter, only to have it caught by the tallest man in the group. “Yes, darling?”

Waylon bit his lip, eyes widening. Should he ask…?

“…How come you haven’t proposed to me, now?”

Eddie visibly sucked in a breath, looking away. Waylon sighed, leaning his head back against his chest. “We could get married now, Eddie.”

Waylon felt Eddie’s shoulders slump in defeat. Eddie glanced down at him, lips turned into an almost painful frown, “I’m afraid…” he sighed. “I’m afraid it’s just not that easy, Waylon.”

“… I… I’m sorry, Eddie.”

“For what?”

Waylon closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in. He couldn’t force the tears away any longer; his voice shook. “I’m sorry that we never got to be happy…”

It was then Waylon brought his hands up to cover his face, trying and failing to hide his distress from everyone else. He let out a choked sob, using Eddie’s body beside him to keep him from falling to the floor.

“ _Waylon,”_ Eddie pleaded, clutching Waylon tight against his chest. He wrapped his arms around him even as he continued to sob, ruining his shirt with the snot running down his nose, “Darling, I have spent the last two millenniums searching for you,” he said, tilting Waylon’s chin up. “—because _you_ were the only thing that could _ever_ make me happy.”

Waylon immediately threw his arms around Eddie’s neck, kissing him hard as a roar of shouts and laughter erupted from the crowd of women as Lisa threw her bouquet. It was then they split apart, wrapped up in one another even as Eddie began guiding them towards the exit. “Let’s say our goodbyes and go home, huh?”

He nodded in agreement, wiping his nose with the back of his hand as everyone lined up by the entrance of the venue to see the bride and the groom off. Everything happened in a flash of rushing bodies and wide smiles; Waylon barely got to see Lisa and Aaron stuffing themselves into a limousine before they were gone.

Waylon tried to keep his bleary eyes open and alert as he started heading out with Eddie. Since the building was located in the direct center the city, they’d parked the car a few blocks away, which meant they’d have to stay conscious long enough to make it to the parking garage.

He made sure to stick close to Eddie’s side as the crowd began dispersing; Waylon almost wanted to go back and say goodbye to Miles first, but being in the moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care. In the end he just decided it’d be best to follow his boyfriend’s lead, hoping he knew where he was going.

There wasn’t any way he couldn’t, really. Eddie was a man of many talents, and one of those happened to be memorization.

Eddie had been modest back at the venue. Waylon knew that by now, he must’ve wanted marriage more than anything else. To officially seal the love between them; maybe he was hoping it’d break the chain, stop the clock. It would explain why the loop had gone on for so long already.

He could never know everything about Eddie. He just couldn’t; there was so much background, so many variables that must’ve played out to get him into this situation. To get them _here._

Waylon felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He let go of Eddie in favor of pulling it out, turning the screen on to find that he had just missed a call from Miles.

He was about to ignore it until they got home, holding a finger down onto the power button; at least, until another message popped up.

>hey man, you dropped your wallet back at the venue. i can either wait for you to come and get it or i can bring it to the house in the morning. up to you.

Waylon cursed under his breath, unlocking his phone and opening up the app to reply.

_“Get out of the ROAD!”_

Several frightening screams cried out just behind Waylon, startling him into dropping his phone. When he tried to see who they were yelling at, he noticed that he wasn’t on the sidewalk anymore, but in the middle of the busy city street.

The next thing he noticed was the flatbed truck speeding towards him through the green light.

Waylon knew he wouldn’t be able to get out of the way in time. He instantly covered his face with his arms, bracing for the impact that didn’t come from his front, but his side.

He immediately fell forward flat on his face, the skin of his lips scraping against the hard pavement beneath him. Waylon groaned, feeling something warm and sticky begin dripping down his lips. It felt like the pavement had scraped up the whole front of his face.

Just as he picked his head up off of the ground, he processed the sounds of ringing in his ears, muffled crying, the screech of a stopped vehicle, and another blood-curdling scream.

Waylon pushed himself up off of the ground, tripping over his feet as he tried to stand. He stumbled back around to see what’d happened, only for his eyes to lock on Eddie, lying on his stomach in front of the truck, head bleeding out onto the hard ground and his right leg bent out of proportion.

That was when he felt it. At first it started as a dull, hissing pain.

Then he _screamed._

Waylon fell to his knees just a few feet away from Eddie’s own crumpled body, screaming from the top of his lungs. It felt like someone was carving him up, tearing, _searing_ into his flesh. He dragged his hands down his face, holding them out in front of him only to find them covered in blood.

His dress shirt was transitioning slowly from stark white to dark red, blotches of blood staining every last inch of his skin.

Then, he felt an even worse pain in the back of his head, as if a bullet from a shotgun had pierced through his skull. His vision went white, and he collapsed onto the ground sobbing, feeling as though a tidal wave were crashing over him.

Live, Die.

Marc.

Philip.

Rowland.

Gerard.

Favian.

Adrien.

Baldwin.

Cato. 

Felix.

_Icarius._


	16. Wake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath.

Waylon jolted upright, gasping.

The first thing he noticed was white. So much white. …He was in a white room. 

Waylon blinked several times, trying to identify the dark, blurred objects around him as his vision finally came into focus. He pressed his palm against his forehead, groaning.

The second thing Waylon noticed was that he was in what looked like a bed, but... it was strange. Something he’d never recalled seeing before. The cloth on his lap was made of a strange material, and he was lying on something fluffy. Too fluffy for his liking.

He nearly jumped out of his skin at a sudden, brief sound behind him. That was the third thing Waylon noticed, turning around to locate the abnormal sound. He quickly identified it as a black box positioned atop a nearby table with small lines moving, continuously making that awful noise.

The fourth thing Waylon noticed was that there was something inside of his arm. He inhaled sharply, his eyes following the tube towards a pole seemingly holding a see-through bag filled with a strange liquid.

_They were putting something inside of him._

Waylon gasped, yanking the pointy object out of his skin and throwing it across the room. He jumped off of the bed, tripping over a series of dark strings in the process. Waylon breathed hard as he pushed himself up off of the floor, just then noticing the white, scratchy clothes he’d seemingly been dressed in.

_‘Where am I…?’_

He felt a small twinge of pain throbbing against the back of his skull as he tried to think of how he could’ve _possibly_ ended up in a situation like this. Was he dreaming?

As Waylon dragged a hand down his face, he felt the tips of his fingers brush over several defined ridges over his skin that definitely hadn’t been there before.

Everything hurt. Waylon half-groaned, half-sobbed as he sunk back onto the floor, trying to breathe and just _think._ His head was in so much pain, it was making it hard to do much of anything. The last thing he could remember was carrying a couple of plates to the dining room and… and falling…

He tried looking around for an exit. There was a door at the other end of the room identical to the color of the walls. He stood back up, beginning to move towards it, but stopped dead in his tracks when it opened.

Something squeaked as footsteps approached, revealing a man clad in strange, brightly-colored clothes moments later. They covered over almost all regions of his body, and they looked… stiff. Uncomfortable.

The man himself was even stranger. He was tall, taller than almost everyone Waylon knew, save for…

The strange man gave Waylon a once-over before entering, leaving the door cracked open behind him, “Waylon Park? You’re awake,” he said, picking up a hard-looking brown tablet sitting on the same table as the scary box.

Time slowed. Waylon’s heart stopped.

“Matthas,” Waylon whispered, staring up at the strange man.

The strange man gave him an odd look in return. “Can you take a seat for me, please?”

Waylon ignored him, “Where am I?” he asked, and gods above, did he sound desperate.

The nurse only looked more concerned as he placed the tablet back down. “Mr. Park, can you take a seat for me, please? You can lie down if it’d make you feel more comfortable,” he offered.

“No!” Waylon shouted, backing himself up against the wall. His eyes darted to the door, then back to the man. The door, the man. “Tell me where I am! What’s going on?! Where did you _take me?! Where’s ICARIUS?!”_

Waylon felt like crying, screaming, flipping something over. He didn’t know where he was, everything was so strange, the man was getting closer, and no, he just wanted to go _home!_

He didn’t put up much of a fight as the strange man and several other people clad and white entered the room, putting something sharp and painful into his body. Waylon let out a soft cry as his eyes fluttered shut, and he was gone to the world once more.

* * *

The next time Waylon woke up, he was feeling drowsy.

There was pain everywhere, tearing at his skin and ripping muscle from bone, but the worst hurt directly in the back of his head. He tried sitting up, failed, flopping back down onto the bed with a soft groan.

It was then he heard the small creak of a door as it was opened. Waylon cracked an eye, watching as a nurse peeked into the room.

Wait… since when was he in a _hospital?_

Waylon tried sitting up again, failing again, resigning himself to watch as the nurse walked over to his bedside.

“Mr. Park? How are you feeling…?” the nurse asked, wearing a frown.

Waylon closed his eyes, taking deep breaths. “Like _shit…”_

“Do you know where you are, Mr. Park?”

Waylon brought a hand to his face, rubbing at his eyes. “A hospital, I think. Unless this is some weird experimental facility or something.”

“No, it’s a hospital,” the nurse chuckled, gently patting the side of his bed. “You were in an accident, but you’re being taken care of. Is there anything you can remember?”

Waylon hummed, trying to think back. All he could see were blurbs of memories flashing behind his eyes of all sorts of things. A field, what looked like a safe house, a farm, someone giving him a hug, a little boy giggling, a palace, a river, a… a _truck, bleeding…_

That last one sounded like the correct answer to how he got into this predicament, so it was what he went with, “A truck?” Waylon repeated, glancing over at the nurse.

The nurse nodded, picking up a clipboard resting on the bedside table before scribbling down what Waylon assumed to be his answer, “Okay,” he mumbled, checking something off of his clipboard before moving back towards the door, “I’ll go get the doctor for you and we can put you on some more pain medication, okay?” he said, not waiting for a response before he was back out the door and out of sight.

Once the door was closed, Waylon tried remembering again. There was an accident, someone… was stabbed? No, no that didn’t sound right.

He could see a guillotine, a man with a pistol and a bloody sword, but he also saw the lights of a truck in front of him, and that seemed right enough. The people around him in that memory looked more like the nurse, they were taller, wore thinner, tighter clothes...

His mind lurched, and suddenly, all he could think about was the one person he desperately wanted to see.

As soon as the nurse returned with the doctor in-tow, the first thing to come out of Waylon’s mouth was, “Where’s Icarius?”

The nurse looked to the doctor, mouthing something to him out of sight where Waylon couldn’t see. It was too quiet to hear, too; the doctor soon dismissed him, and the nurse trotted out of sight.

The doctor dragged one of the nearby chairs over the edge of Waylon’s bed, taking a seat, “Hello, Mr. Park. How are you feeling?” he asked, flipping through the pages of another clipboard.

“Everything fucking hurts,” Waylon hissed, gripping the rails of the bed. “Where’s Icarius?”

The doctor furrowed his brows, tilting his head. “What do you remember before waking up, Waylon?”

“Stop,” Waylon continued, feeling his voice give, slumping over in defeat. “Just—answer my question first.”

The doctor pursed his lips, “I’m afraid I don’t know anyone by the name of Icarius,” he explained. “You woke up once before, asking for the same name. You seemed like you didn’t recognize where you were before you collapsed.”

“What the fuck…?” said Waylon. “I… I know where I am, but I don’t know where _he_ is.”

“Can you describe this Icarius to me? Maybe I can help.”

“An accident,” Waylon stammered almost immediately. “He was hurt. I don’t know what happened, but…” he said, choking on a sob. “God, there was so much _blood…”_

The doctor flipped to the next page of his clipboard, eyes scanning over whatever was printed on the sheet. Waylon sighed in frustration, head throbbing even harder.

Finally, the doctor looked back up from his clipboard with the same, confused look. “When EMTs arrived at the scene, the only people injured were you and another man by the name of Edward Gluskin.”

Gluskin, Gluskin…

Finally, his memories came back. Waylon sucked in a breath, “Eddie Gluskin, yeah, yeah, that’s him! Oh god, what happened to him? Is he okay? Is he _alive?!”_ Waylon asked frantically, knuckles white as he clenched at the bedsheets.

The doctor slumped down into his chair, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry Mr. Park, but we _really_ need to assess your own health first. Once we’re done, I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Okay?”

Waylon wanted to cry. He wanted to get up and throw things around, maybe even punch the doctor square in the nose. But he didn’t. Instead he nodded, sniffing.

He was asked once again if he was in any pain. A ridiculous question, but the doctor adjusted the level of medication given once he got a direct answer. Waylon found out that he’d been unconscious for almost a full week, much to his surprise. After that was a bodily assessment, then questions over his mental health.

“What’s the last thing you remember, Waylon?” he asked, pen hovering over paper.

“The truck,” he said, fiddling with his fingers in his lap. “Ic- uh, Eddie was hit.”

The doctor scribbled something down onto paper, glancing back up at him as he continued writing. “How far back can you remember? Childhood memories, anything in between?” 

“Yeah, I,” Waylon began, pursing his lips. What was the first thing he could remember? “It’s… well, the first thing I can think of off of the top of my head is watching a little boy while he was sick. Patora, Patera, something like that…”

Waylon paused, He glanced around the hospital room. His eyes widened, and he placed his hands over his head, stuttering. “ _S-shit.”_

“Do you remember anything else, Waylon?”

“I remember…” he said, gulping. “ _Everything…”_

The doctor gave him a small nod, hooking the pen onto his clipboard. “Those are all of the questions I have for you. Although I do have one more, but if you don’t know the answer, that’s perfectly understandable.”

“O-okay…”

“Right,” the doctor clicked his tongue. “When we arrived at the scene, we were very concerned with your condition. You had a tremendous amount of blood on you, and when we tested it later in the night, it was confirmed to be your own. But when EMTs attempted to figure out just where all the blood was coming from, they found no open wounds.”

Waylon opened his mouth, then closed it. Then, he opened it again. “I… then where did these come from?” he asked, pointing to the scars trailing up his arm.

“Those scars are old—they look like they’ve been healed for years. They were left just like that when we were cleaning you up. You don’t remember any of them?” the doctor asked.

Waylon shook his head, “N-no. I felt something on my face, too.” he said, scratching his cheek.

“...Would you like a mirror, Mr. Park?”

Waylon nodded frantically.

The doctor disappeared for all of two seconds before returning with a small hand mirror. He passed it over to Waylon, reflection turned away from the male.

When Waylon turned it around to look at his face, he nearly gasped.

Over the cheek he’d felt ridges were three long scars carved into his skin. Not only that, but he had a deep gouge biting into his lip, and one whole, thin scar that seemed to circle the entirety of his neck.

When he brushed his fingers over the perfect scar, the word _guillotine_ came to mind.

Waylon dropped the mirror, scooting further back against the sheets. “I… I’m all set with that.”

The doctor nodded, grabbing the mirror and placing it onto the bedside table. He then wrung his fingers together, posture straightening. “Do you have any more questions for me, Mr. Park?”

Waylon narrowed his eyes. “Where is… Eddie. What _happened_ to him?”

The doctor nodded, sighing. “Mr. Gluskin sustained a serious cranial injury upon impact, and his right tibia and femoral bones were shattered. We had to amputate them.”

Waylon felt ready to cry. He buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking violently. “Is he _alive?”_

“He was in critical condition for the first three days of his hospitalization, and we were operating almost twenty-four-seven. After we performed our final surgery on his cranium, he stabilized.”

Waylon audibly cried out in relief. But it was short-lived as the doctor continued. “Although the surgical scars appears to be healing nicely, we aren’t sure about his mental state. We still don’t know if he’ll be suffering from any form of brain damage, memory loss, or any other serious conditions that can potentially arise from an accident like this.”

The doctor shifted on his heels, clearly uncomfortable with Waylon’s teary-eyed gaze. “We’re going to be keeping you here for a few more days; we still have a few more assessments for you before we can release you.”

“Can I see him?” Waylon asked, his whole body shaking.

The doctor paused, “I’ll see if I can get it approved. They’re still monitoring him and running tests,” he explained, scratching the back of his head.

Waylon sighed, leaning back into his bed. “Okay.”

“We’ve had people calling for you,” the doctor said almost as a second thought on his way out. “A woman by the name of Lisa Park calls around the same time every evening. And another man named Miles Upshur came to visit you several times.”

“Do you think I could give them a call? Or should I wait until you’re done testing,” Waylon asked, resigned.

The doctor smiled, nodding. “I’ll go get you a phone.”

* * *

Waylon heard footsteps thundering down the hall outside.

Miles practically kicked the hospital door off of its hinges, slamming it shut behind him just as recklessly. He then tossed a foreign object onto the bedside table right before enveloping Waylon in a tight hug.

Waylon tried patting Miles’ back, but found it nearly impossible as he was slowly strangled to death, “Miles…” he choked, struggling against the man’s uncomfortable hold. “Can’t _breathe…”_

“Sorry,” said Miles, pulling up a chair beside Waylon and sitting down. It was then Waylon looked over to see what Miles had thrown, finding his wallet now resting on the bedside table.

“Thanks,” Waylon mumbled, turning back around only to be enveloped in another, much looser hug.

Miles sniffled against his shoulder, “I’m just glad you’re alive, Way…” he breathed, patting the top of Waylon’s head.

Waylon chuckled sadly, pushing against Miles’ chest, “Me too,” he rasped. “Thanks for coming.”

“I’ve been coming almost every day dude, but—it’s nice to have you awake this time,” he laughed, rubbing at his runny nose.

Waylon chuckled, playing with the hospital sheets. “Did you visit Icarius, too?”

Miles smirked, his laugh a bit awkward as he gave Waylon a strange stare. “Uh… who’s Icarius?”

“Oh,” Waylon paused, then realized. “ _Oh._ Eddie.”

Miles’ smirk disappeared. He blinked several times, looking away. “...no. I asked once, but it sounded… pretty bad.”

Waylon groaned, shoulders sagging. He should’ve known.

“Who’s Icarius?” Miles asked, obviously desperate to change the subject.

Waylon cringed harder. “It’s… a long story.”

Miles hummed, folding his hands over his lap. “…Did they say they’d let you visit Eddie?”

“No.”

Miles didn’t seem to know what to say to that. He opened and closed his mouth once before sitting back in his chair, rubbing his hands down his face.

Waylon didn’t mind. He was still hurting despite all of the painkillers, and somehow still conscious. Although now, the pain was only centered in his skull. It almost felt like a migraine, but there was something different; something more tolerable about it.

He glanced over to Miles, finding him staring off towards the empty wall at the other end of the room. Everything came in waves. Waylon still didn’t understand how he could remember Miles so easily, but for Eddie, it took a doctor’s reminder and a major freak-out to remember his name.

Not _Icarius._

When he finally wrapped up his visit with Miles, everything felt colder. The doctor still couldn’t confirm Eddie’s condition, nor the status of his request to visit him. He had no one to talk to other than Miles, not including the nightly phone calls with Lisa.

No one to hug, no shoulder to cry on, because after everything he’d remembered, all that’d _happened…_

It hurt every time he felt a new wave of memories push forward to the forefront of his mind. Waylon could still feel blank, empty spaces within his memories that would soon be replaced by another painful stab to his brain.

And just when he thought he’d had enough, the love of his life was unconscious somewhere else in the building, missing a leg and, potentially, all of his memories of their life together. Waylon stood, grabbing onto the nearby IV pole.

The nurse came barging in soon enough, another doctor following close behind. They grabbed Waylon under his arms, sharp, blissful pain surging throughout his body seconds later.

The heart monitor was broken, the bedside table on its side, and Waylon, sobbing uncontrollably as he was lowered onto the cool floor of the hospital room, thinking of nothing but how Icarius was _gone,_ and now he wouldn’t _remember._

That was when he realized; that was exactly how Icarius must’ve felt for the last two millenniums.

Now, it was Waylon’s turn.

* * *

In a slight turn of events, the doctors decided keep Waylon in the hospital for longer than originally planned.

Waylon broke down at least twice a day, waking up to new memories. He would then start breaking machines and ripping up papers, causing himself physical harm by thrusting his knee into every new monitor, making so much trouble that the doctors had to resort to monitoring him twenty-four seven. Most of the time, he would be put right to sleep.

Four days later, someone came to see him, asking him questions about himself, a psychiatrist, probably. Waylon could only assume they were trying to figure out why he wouldn’t stop crying. But he wasn’t dumb enough to tell them anything; he kept his mouth shut, turning away from those pleading, sorrowful eyes.

The only time Waylon remained relatively stable was when Miles came to visit. He would show him photo-updates of Lisa and her husband on their honeymoon, talk about his dickhead of a boss, and even once going so far as to pull up facetime on his phone to talk to Lisa and Aaron together.

Miles was looking over Waylon’s bandaged knuckles, sighing. “Way, seriously, what’s gotten into you? You’ve gotta stop doing this,” he said, letting Waylon’s hand plop back down onto his lap.

Waylon flopped onto the bed, letting out a frustrated huff. “I’m scared. I’m fucking _scared_ Miles, okay?”

“Way—”

“No! They fucking—they won’t let me see him!” Waylon near-shouted, hands clenching into fists. “I need to see him, Miles. I can’t take it anymore. I’ve been stuck here for over almost two _weeks!”_

Miles growled under his breath, grabbing Waylon’s wrist and exposing his battered hand. He then tugged the bedsheets back, showing off his tightly-wrapped kneecaps. “And _why_ do you think that is, Waylon?”

Waylon only huffed, turning away from Miles.

It was silent for a few more seconds. Then, Miles sighed. “What’s happening to you, Waylon?”

Waylon refused to turn back around. Instead, he shrugged his shoulders up to his ears. “I remember _everything,_ Miles.”

He could hear Miles leaning over in his chair. “What, the accident?”

“No,” said Waylon, voice muffled by his pillow. “ _Everything.”_

“I don’t follow.”

Waylon jolted up, his wild eyes trained on Miles. “I remember hiding from the Black Plague. I remember what it felt like to get gutted and strung up in front of a church. I remember being sold for sex in a run-down sector as a teenager. I remember people moving the mother-fucking ‘New World’, Miles!”

Miles reeled back. “Waylon, you’re kind of scaring me…”

“Miles, I’m over two-thousand years old, goddammit!” Waylon shouted, pointing back towards the door. “And so is Eddie!”

As soon as the words came out, Waylon realized his mistake.

Miles stared at him, slack-jawed.

Waylon gulped. “I have something I need to tell you. Do you have anywhere you need to be within the next hour?”

“…No…”

“Good.”

* * *

The day of Waylon’s release had finally come. The doctors had let him know days before that he’d be let out after lunchtime, but the nurse came in to greet him around eight.

“Good morning Mr. Park,” the nurse said in an overly-cheerful tone, his disturbingly wide grin making Waylon want to scoot further back again the sheets.

He clutched his book tighter, “Uh…” Waylon replied, glancing around briefly before settling back on the nurse. “…Morning…? I thought I wasn’t supposed to be released until after one…”

“That’s correct,” said the nurse, hands folded in front of his lap. “I came here to inform you that Mr. Gluskin has woken up. He’s been conscious for almost an hour, now.”

Waylon dropped the book in his hands, heart beating erratically in his chest.

“Where is he?”

The nurse made sure to keep a close eye on Waylon as he escorted him through the winding halls. Although Waylon was more than excited to see Eddie awake and, more importantly, _alive,_ he was still scared out of his wits. He hadn’t bothered to ask the nurse to fill him in on Eddie’s mental status, but the fact that he hadn’t said anything already was somewhat-comforting.

All Waylon could do now was hope.

The nurse stopped in front of one lonely door at the end of the empty hall. He gave Waylon a brief, nervous glance before gently knocking on the door. He heard a small click before it swung open, revealing a somewhat agitated-looking doctor.

She glanced first to the nurse, then to Waylon. The nurse coughed, “I brought Mr. Park,” he whispered, earning a curt nod from the doctor.

“I’m sure Mr. Gluskin will be happy to see him.”

_‘He’ll be happy to see me. He’ll be happy to see me. He’ll be happy to see me—’_

As soon as the door was cracked open wide enough for Waylon to enter, he practically trampled the doctor by how fast he maneuvered himself into the room, coming to stand at the baseboard of the only bed in the room.

On it laid Eddie Gluskin, _Icarius Leos,_ wearing the same shitty hospital clothes he’d been forced into, head wrapped up in bandages, right leg missing just four inches above the knees, hair shaved off, eyes half-lidded and a grin plastered over his handsome face. “Hello, darling.”

In one fluid motion Waylon leaped over to Eddie’s bedside, about to envelope him in a bone-crushing hug had it not been for the doctor holding him back.

“He still has the stitches in from his surgeries,” the doctor explained, forcing Waylon to take a step back. “Best not tear them open, now.”

“Could you leave us for a moment?” Eddie chimed in, punctuated by a dry cough.

Both the doctor and the nurse shared a look of concern, followed by the nurse shrugging. The doctor sized Waylon up before letting out a short huff, “Alright. Remember to press the button on your remote if you’re having any problems or discomfort,” she said towards Eddie, giving Waylon a cold stare before walking out with the nurse.

As soon as the door was closed, Waylon plopped down into the chair beside Eddie.

“Oh god, Icarius, do you remember me?” Waylon asked softly, hesitant to place his hands anywhere over the other man. He could clearly see the stitches pulled taut over the skin of his face, but anything underneath his clothes would remain a mystery until they were fully healed.

“Darling, how could I—wait,” Eddie paused, furrowing his brows. A moment later and his eyes widened, looking up to Waylon in disbelief. He scanned the smaller man up and down, jaw hanging open. “What… what have you…?”

Waylon sobbed between laughter, bringing Eddie’s hand up to his cheek. “I remember too,” he cried, clinging to the bedsheets. “I remember _everything.”_

For the first time in over two-thousand years, Waylon sat there and watched as Icarius Leos _cried._ Actually cried, tears streaming down his cheeks as he brought a hand up to caress Waylon’s cheek.

Even just the simple act was clearly causing him pain, a small wince adorning his features even as he retracted his hand. “Well,” he said, gesturing down to his lower half, half-sobbing, half-laughing. “I think it’s safe to say I’m not _immortal_ anymore.”

Waylon let out a choked sob of his own, patting the exposed part of Eddie’s shoulder where there was no stitching preventing it. “How are you even _alive?_ An impact that hard and fast should’ve killed you.”

Eddie chuckled softly, followed by more coughing. “I’d like to believe that I was still at least ten-percent immortal when it hit.”

_“Ten percent immortal?!”_ Waylon whisper-screamed, trying and failing to stifle a laugh.

“It’s the only way I could’ve thought to have survived, Waylon!”

Waylon leaned down, smothering Eddie’s lips in a wet kiss. When he finally pulled back, eyes half lidded, he sighed, “We can talk about the rest of this when you’re feeling better. Lord knows I need answers from you, lying to me about this,” he huffed. “Just… tell me what happened.”

Eddie went on to tell Waylon all the doctor had described of his operations. Unfortunately, not everything would heal nicely.

“They replaced so much,” Eddie explained, gesturing down his chest. “She told me I would have trouble walking, moving around for extended periods of time, strenuous activity…”

“Are you still going to work out?” Waylon asked.

Eddie rolled his eyes, “What, afraid I’ll lose these?” he asked, maneuvering his arm in an attempt to stretch out and pull the muscles, but it seemed moving more than a few inches away from its resting position caused a decent amount of pain.

Waylon shook his head, helping to maneuver Eddie’s arm back by his side. “Oh yeah, impressive.”

“It’s mostly lower-body,” said Eddie, leaning back. “I’ll still be able to walk on a prosthetic, just not for long. Believe me, I asked, and she told me any strenuous exercise is going to have to wait for at least a year.”

“A year without doing anything sounds like heaven,” said Waylon, sighing happily.

“Not when you’re stuck like _this.”_

Waylon grasped Eddie’s hand in his own, squeezing tight, “I love you Icarius,” he whispered, planting the softest kiss he could manage atop Eddie’s forehead.

Eddie gripped his hand softly in return. “I’m just glad you remember… and you’re _alive…”_

“Yep,” Waylon laughed, leaning back into his seat. “We can grow old and bitch about how you can’t show off your abs in public anymore, unless it’s on a beach…”

Even through the pain, Eddie let out a full-bellied laugh. “Of course, _that’s_ what you’d chose to remember fondly.”

_“Very_ fondly.”

Waylon wished he could’ve fallen asleep just like that, head resting on Eddie’s bedside with his fingers stroking ever so gently through his hair. There was still so much left unsaid, he needed to tell Eddie everything—one thing being that now, Miles knew…

But that could wait for another day. They still had a long road of recovery ahead of them, though Waylon was fully capable of waiting.

He’d known since the night they’d met that he would stay by Icarius’ side, forever and always; throughout the day, and into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That is, in a sense, the end of this story. Stay tuned for the epilogue next week :)


	17. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue.

_“I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream…”_

Waylon hit ‘mute’ on the TV remote, flopping back against the plush sheets of the king-size bed. He let out a faint sigh, tilting his head to glance over at the bathroom door where the sound of the shower could be heard through the thin walls of the hotel room.

He turned back to watch the muted TV after a few more seconds of nothing, finding himself bored with the endless stream of opening credits flitting over the screen. The calligraphy was nice to look at, sure, but there wasn’t much else to it.

After a few more seconds of blank staring, Waylon rolled off of the bed, scooping his dress shoes up off of the floor and tossing them onto the bed beside him. Just as he tugged on the first shoe, the shower water cut out.

Waylon hummed, beginning to tie up his shoes. He continued listening to the bathroom, hearing the sound of the shower curtain opening and then a heavy thud. He heard a small curse, then shuffling.

“Need any help?” Waylon called out, starting on his second shoe.

“No,” a gruff voice replied from the other side of the door.

Waylon shook his head, chuckling as he turned his attention back to the TV. It seemed to have finally passed through the rest of the opener, the movie transitioning to a scene of knights and cartoon townspeople marching all in one direction to meet the princess Aurora.

Waylon rolled his eyes, sparing another glance back at the bathroom door. Now he could hear the sound of a running sink and a bottle cap popping open.

This time Waylon shut the TV the rest of the way off, stretching his arms over his head and marching over to the nearby balcony. He pushed the sliding door open, making sure not to close it just in case something happened back in the bathroom.

There were two black metal chairs resting on the balcony beside him. Waylon pulled the closest one out, scooting towards the edge before folding his arms over the railing and staring out at the vast cityscape.

The sun was almost fully set by now, and the light that remained casted an almost eerie glow over the wide expanse of buildings and skyscrapers. Waylon sighed, feeling a small lump form in his throat as he continued to stare off.

It was all so different now…

Waylon hadn’t heard the sound of the bathroom door opening. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a cough from behind him, gripping onto the railing for dear life as he whipped around to find Eddie standing in the doorway.

Waylon huffed a breath of relief before walking back into the hotel room, smacking the other man on the arm on his way in. Eddie chuckled lowly, sliding the door shut and locking it behind him before slowly but surely making his way over onto the bed.

As soon as he was sat down, Waylon plopped Eddie’s own, larger pair of dress shoes onto the bed. He left him to his own devices after that, moving into the freed bathroom to freshen up before they left.

Just as he turned the corner, he glanced back to watch Eddie pull up a sock, revealing a gleaming black prosthetic under his pant leg. Waylon frowned.

He moved into the bathroom. Eddie didn’t usually like being helped, anyway; it took him a while to figure out how to walk properly on the prosthetic, but after two years of practice, he could barely tell he had a limp. Granted, he now moved much slower and couldn’t run.

The leg wasn’t completely at fault for his lack of mobility. Eddie stood hunched over most of the time, took a lot of breaks, and could walk for minutes at a time before he was out of breath and in need of rest.

Whenever the day was especially rough and Eddie could barely manage to get himself out of bed, the only person he’d allow to help him was Waylon. Of course, he was still stubborn about it, only actually receiving said help when Waylon persisted and he felt on the verge of collapse.

Eddie didn’t always like wearing the prosthetic, either. He had a set of crutches with him to which both Waylon and Eddie’s doctor frowned upon. It only succeeded in putting more stress on the upper half of his body, but… well, he hadn’t collapsed on them _yet._

Waylon put his deodorant back into the cabinet, looking around the counter for a hairband. Eventually he spotted a small elastic sitting in the bathroom soap holder, maneuvering it up his wrist before fiddling with his hair, trying to divide it with his fingers into a simple braid.

Easier said than done. He could barely remember the last time he’d braided anyone’s hair, much less his own, and he was struggling. Large chunks of hair kept falling behind his ears, and he cursed himself for being so out of practice.

After another thick strand fell over his cheek, Waylon cursed, giving up. He shut off the bathroom light, tugging the elastic off of his wrist before plopping down beside Eddie with his back turned, holding the elastic over his shoulder. “Help?”

It didn’t take much convincing. Waylon was on the verge of tears once Eddie was done though, as he made sure the elastic was tied tight onto his tiny braid.

He groaned, pressing two fingers against the back of his head. “...Ow…”

“It’ll keep it from falling out,” Eddie grunted, standing up.

Waylon paused. Then, he narrowed his eyes, glaring up at the other man. “You _ass.”_

Eddie chuckled, plucking his coat off of the nearby rack, “Come on,” he said, tugging the fabric up and over his shoulders. “We’ll be late for our reservation if we don’t leave on time.”

From his most recent childhood memories, Waylon could only recall staying at a hotel a handful of times. He’d never used the elevators; his family would always bring the luggage up in it themselves while Waylon was running up and down the stairs. Why use it when you have two good legs?

But ever since he’d begun his odyssey with Eddie, they’d stayed at so many hotels that Waylon had already lost count. They’d never used the stairs; not once. It just wasn’t an option anymore.

The restaurant wasn’t far, but they took a cab anyway. They were dropped off near the city center; one large square filled with people walking here and there, to and fro, entering and exiting buildings, doing things that normal people do.

Waylon felt Eddie grasp his hand as they walked across the square to the fancy restaurant he’d set them up with. All the while Waylon looked around, eyes glossing over before he casted his gaze back to the ground.

“So many people…” Waylon whispered just loud enough for Eddie to hear.

Eddie pursed his lips, nodding. “I... miss having a table here.”

Waylon took a shuddering breath, pulling himself together as they walked. “I miss _Hiero’s_ table.”

Waylon felt Eddie press closer, rubbing his back as they approached the front doors of the restaurant. “Shh, darling, don’t cry…”

Waylon gulped, wiping his nose, “I’m fine,” he assured, tugging on the handle of the door. “I won’t cry until tomorrow, I promise.”

Eddie placed a hand against Waylon’s shoulder as they entered, running it down his arm as the door shut behind them. “Please try not to cry, because then you’re going to make _me_ cry.”

“ _Good,”_ Waylon laughed, linking their arms together. “Suffer with me.”

When the hostess glanced up from her stand to greet them, Waylon noticed her cut off mid-sentence. Of course she started back up again moments later, offering them a small smile as she asked for a name. Waylon felt Eddie’s hand clutch tighter against his.

Waylon had already grown used to all of the attention and staring. He understood that the scar around his neck probably seemed odd and interesting to other people, but he tended to ignore it.

In fact, Waylon didn’t usually notice his markings unless a particularly rude passerby made commentary or asked him directly. “None of your business,” was a much simpler reply than, “Oh, this? I got my head chopped off by a guillotine when the French monarchy had me tried for theft.”

Other than that, their dinner was exceptional. The food was prepared almost instantaneously, the service was fantastic, and even the waiter didn’t spend any time staring. It made him feel at home.

After all, they _were_ home.

* * *

Eddie had initially insisted on using his crutches, but Waylon wouldn’t let him get past the door without his prosthetic.

“We’re _walking_ today,” Waylon huffed, shoving Eddie back into the room. “You are _not_ going to last the whole day on crutches.”

Harsh, but true. Eddie fastened on his prosthetic a few minutes later, grumbling all the while with Waylon standing nearby, finally satisfied to leave the building.

The town had become a city, which meant that the land under use had expanded, which meant that everything was _huge._ They had already planned their rides for the day, but they’d still spend a decent portion of their time walking through all the old memories they planned to visit.

Their first destination was the city center where they’d been the night before, but hadn’t had much of a chance to explore. There were tons of cheesy gift shops and clothing centers to which Waylon convinced Eddie to indulge, if only for a little while.

They’d left the hotel just before lunchtime, so they ate at a small cafe with outdoor seating around the two hour mark. It appeared as though they’d hit right after the rush, because as soon as they were seated, most patrons were already leaving.

Eddie had insisted they take their time to enjoy the food, but Waylon could tell he was probably tiring, too. He didn’t mind, and they continued on normal conversation and reminisced over memories while they ate, taking guesses as to what used to be right beneath their feet.

“The baked foods market,” Eddie guessed, pointing out to the road with his fork. “It was closest to the north side.”

“Yeah, but they definitely would’ve changed it,” Waylon protested, taking a sip of his soda. “I sure as hell don’t know where we are.”

“The north side.”

They cleaned up their things after another hour of sitting around, moving back onto the street and into a less chaotic sector of the city. The paved roads started moving further and further away from the sidewalk until eventually they took a completely different turn altogether, leaving them to walk the trail of the park.

To the left of the cement path was trimmed grass, scattered rocks and stone. To their right just a few feet away laid a river, flowing fast down by their side.

Waylon felt his hand jerk as Eddie stopped moving, staring off towards the river. He seemed almost transfixed, his expression unreadable.

He nudged Eddie’s shoulder. “Do you… want to sit down?”

Eddie nodded, walking a few feet over to the edge of the trees before sitting down, peeking just slightly over the edge of the river. Waylon plopped down beside him, content but still a little confused.

They sat in silence for a good five minutes, watching the water rush by. When Waylon dared to lean on Eddie’s shoulder, he retracted as he felt the other man bury his face in his hands.

Waylon shook Eddie’s shoulder, worried. “Are you okay…?”

Eddie didn’t respond right away. He took a few deep breaths, shuddering before answering, “How can you still be here, Waylon?” he asked, his voice as sharp as a knife.

“What do you mean?”

“After all that’s happened,” Eddie continued, scoffing. “After all I’ve _done to you?_ How can you still _be here?”_

“Wha…” Waylon paused, brow twitching.

Eddie let his arms fall over his legs. “I’ve done so many god-awful things to you, Waylon. I’ve left you to die more than once. I _raped_ you, _murdered_ you, and you’re still here. _Why?”_

“Y-you , you didn’t mean any…”

“No, Waylon, I fucked both of us over. I fucked _you_ over especially, and now you’re stuck here, like this, and it’s all my goddamn fault—”

“Icarius!” yelled Waylon, taking Eddie by his shoulders. “Shut _up!_ You already tried to do this to me once, don’t think you can just push me away like that…!”

Eddie turned away, scoffing. “I’m despicable.”

Waylon sighed, retracting his hands, “…Look…” he began, taking a deep breath. “…You’ve seen way more than any man or woman should ever have to see. That definitely didn’t put you in the right mindset and that’s a fact, but—Icarius, it wasn’t your fault.”

“But it was,” Waylon heard, barely a whisper.

Before he could ask how, Eddie stood, the sound of bones popping audible as he rolled his shoulders. “It happened right here, you know. I dropped all of my things like I was being controlled by—I fell in. Next thing I know I’m gasping for air, pulling myself onto land to find all of my open wounds had healed.”

Waylon reeled back. “…Just like _that?”_

Eddie flicked his fingers, creating a popping sound with his mouth. “Just like that.”

“How could that _possibly_ be your fault?”

Eddie sighed, stretching a hand out for Waylon to take. “Because apparently loving someone too much tends to piss of some very powerful people.”

Waylon was seconds away from asking what the _hell_ he was talking about for a second time, but before he could Eddie cut him off with a brief, “Let’s keep walking.”

And so they did, albeit slower. Waylon decided to keep his mouth shut, not wanting to aggravate him further. Eventually the path stretched out before them, winding around broken stone and pillars labeled as ‘historical ruins’ by a small informational sign; a building that once towered above as a beautiful temple.

Waylon released Eddie’s hand in favor of moving closer to the ruins, bits and pieces of memories patching themselves together. Laying down in the tall grass staring up at the sky every night, with Icarius, their hands linked together…

He felt his knees grow weak, and Waylon allowed himself to collapse onto the grass beneath his feet. He tried to hold back a sob, sounding as if he was gagging on something foul. He couldn’t help it; memories like that, gone forever, and he was _devastated._

Moments later Waylon heard Eddie shuffling around in the grass beside him, suddenly thankful for his patience. Waylon covered his mouth with his hand, closing his eyes and shuddering. Now— _now_ he understood why Eddie never wanted to come back—

Suddenly, two large arms enveloped him in a tight hug. Waylon instantly leaned back, shaking violently as a single tear escaped his eye.

He opened his eyes to find three women walking on the path next to them, two of the three giving them odd stares as they passed by. Waylon tried to look away; to focus more on Eddie and calming down.

Waylon wasn’t certain, but it almost felt as if Eddie was shaking against him. Did he feel the same? _‘Probably,’_ Waylon assumed. _‘—considering everything else.’_

Waylon turned in Eddie’s arms, humming against his shoulder and playing with the hair on the back of his neck. He’d started to grow it out again, just the same as Waylon had, “Should’ve brought dinner here, we could stay a while longer…” he said, lips pressed into the fabric of Eddie’s shirt.

“No,” said Eddie, pulling away. “I had somewhere else in mind.”

They did stay by the ruined temple for quite some time after that, though. Most of it was spent in silence, staring up at the sky, the trees, the ruined temple.

Waylon wasn’t sure when exactly Eddie had decided it was time to go, but he didn’t argue. They could always come back again later in the week since they did have a stay booked for seven days. And seven days was definitely enough time to get the gears turning and the tear ducts flowing.

Eddie wouldn’t tell him where they were headed next. They got shitty fast food for dinner, heading into another cab as soon as the cashier handed them their bag. Eddie mumbled the address to the driver so quietly that Waylon couldn’t hear either of them. At that point, he didn’t care.

Every so often, Waylon would sneak a couple french fries from the bag out of Eddie’s peripheral, keeping his jaw closed and chewing slow. He stared out at the nearby scenery, admiring the view of another early sunset and the incline outside.

Eventually the driver stopped, pulling his attention away from the window. Waylon turned to Eddie, finding him already pushing himself up and out of the car with their bag of food.

Waylon rolled his eyes, following him out. He must’ve paid the driver when he wasn’t looking, because the man drove off without another word, leaving them in the parking lot atop a steep hill lined with even more paths of cement and finely trimmed grass.

That was when Waylon realized.

He would’ve collapsed again were it not for Eddie’s arm wrapping around his middle. It was a wonder how Eddie managed to keep himself upright with his condition, but Waylon wasn’t complaining.

He managed to right himself, moving with Eddie towards the winding paths beside the parking lot without another word. It was too much. It was all too much.

The outlook had apparently become a tourist hot spot within the time they were gone, because there were people everywhere—chattering along the paths, smoking cigarettes in the parking lot, leaning on railings and peering over the edge.

Waylon reached into the bag and bit violently into his subway wrap.

Eddie moved them along, more or less ignoring the designated paths in favor of walking over the grass to the edge. Even he seemed a bit shaken at the sight, Waylon noticed. It had been, for a time, his ‘field of solitude’.

_Theirs._ But not anymore.

Waylon glanced to his feet, sighing. There were too many people around for animals to hang out, but how desperately Waylon wished a little garter snake would just rub up against his ankle, then maybe he could feel the memories again...

He wasn’t sure when they’d both begun to cling to each other, taking large bites out of their dinner as they walked. Waylon whimpered once they approached the ledge, almost wanting to pull away, to head back. If he looked, it would become all too real.

“I…” Waylon began, finding himself at a loss for words. What could he even say?

“Whenever I moved somewhere new, I would never look back,” Eddie whispered.

When Waylon glanced up to him, Eddie sighed, “I didn’t want to have to remember the memories that came with it. Death was inescapable everywhere I went. I didn’t think I’d ever come back. You—” he said, taking a shaky breath. “You _died_ here, Waylon. Without any explanation. Without any reason _why.”_

Waylon shook like a leaf. “…I know.”

“I’m glad you remember,” Eddie continued, sparing him a small smile. “I’m glad I don’t have to worry anymore. I’m glad I don’t have to keep myself awake at night wondering if that day was the last I’d ever see you for another twenty-three years.”

“Me too,” said Waylon, the words coming out as more of a cry than a statement.

They leaned against each other on the ledge for a few moments. At least, until Waylon decided to break the silence.

“I guess that means we can’t fuck up here anymore, can we?” he asked.

Waylon was not prepared for the loud laugh he received. It even startled some of the people standing nearby, throwing them back from the railings in fright.

“I guess not,” said Eddie, leaning forward and closer to Waylon’s ear. “…but I can think of a few places where we _could.”_

Waylon’s face grew hot; incredibly hot. He barely noticed Eddie plucking the garbage out of his hands, walking over and tossing it into a nearby disposal bin. Well, at least public management was good for _something._

When he turned back to Eddie, he found the other man rifling through the small bag he’d been carrying around with him. Waylon stood waiting, assuming his leg was in pain again and he was looking for painkillers.

But he was more than surprised when Eddie pulled his hand out of the pocket and it didn’t come back with a bottle of pills, but rather an apple.

Waylon raised a brow in interest as Eddie tossed the apple up, catching it with the same hand before glancing to Waylon. He flicked his wrist, tossing the apple towards him.

He caught it in his palms, still confused as to why Eddie had been carrying around an apple all day. He glanced down at the crisp surface; then, it struck him.

_“Waylon, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” said Icarius, standing up from one of the many nearby chairs._

_Waylon paused, glancing over his shoulder. “What?”_

_“You have to turn around for me to ask you,” Icarius explained, a certain joyful tone in his voice leaving Waylon curious as to what could have the man so riled up._

_As soon as Waylon turned around, he noticed Icarius twirling an apple around in his hand, smirking. Waylon raised his brows as he tossed it towards him._

_Waylon felt as though he couldn’t breathe. He caught the apple easily, staring down at it in wonder before looking back up at Icarius._

_He had gotten up, and Waylon gasped faintly as he used one hand to grasp his waist, the other holding out a ring made to look like… a snake?_

_Icarius closed his hand around the ring, pushing the apple clutched in Waylon’s palms closer to his chest. “…Marry me, Waylon.”_

_It felt as though his heart had stopped._

It was almost like déjà vu, watching how Eddie’s hand unclasped before him to reveal a new ring; with only one brief glance, Waylon noticed its three major details; a dove, three small roses, and the ring itself a snake, this time twisting in and out to form the ring.

“Where do you keep getting this shit…?” Waylon half-sobbed, leaning against Eddie’s chest.

Eddie chuckled, taking Waylon’s hand into his own. He gently removed the original ring that was already there, moving it to his index finger and replacing it with the new ring.

“I mean it this time, Waylon,” said Eddie, clutching Waylon’s hands. “Will you marry me?”

Waylon didn’t waste a second. He threw himself into Eddie’s arms, sobbing against his shoulder all the while mumbling incoherently, snot dripping from his nose.

Once Waylon was able to speak, he stuttered. “You’re a real dork, you know that?”

“I had to do it traditionally,” Eddie explained, rolling his eyes.

Waylon pushed him back, laughing. “This better happen soon. I don’t want to risk it.”

Eddie leaned forward, kissing Waylon’s knuckles. “As soon as we get back, darling. We’re _free.”_

* * *

Eddie made sure not to make a single sound as he climbed out of bed, careful as not to disturb Waylon. He searched for the pair of pants that had been discarded a few hours beforehand, feeling around the dark floor. Taking out a fresh pair from the drawers would be too noisy, and as much as he’d like to throw on some robes or walk around without any clothes, that wasn’t exactly tolerated anymore.

So he slowly but surely put on his clothes, one by one, wincing as the floor creaked beneath his foot. He turned back to Waylon, finding him sprawled out against the bed snoring, still fast asleep.

Eddie sighed, taking his prosthetic off and placing it into the corner. Going to bed with it always did a number on what was left of his leg in the morning when he woke up, so he opted for the crutches stowed away in the corner instead.

He unlocked the hotel door with a soft ‘click’, glancing at the clock in the corner before departing.

2:12 AM.

He managed to make it down to the lobby with little to no trouble, plopping himself down into one of the guest chairs before taking his phone out of his pocket and dialing for a taxi service.

It took a good twenty minutes of patience, but eventually the driver showed up at the front of the hotel, gesturing for Eddie to get inside. As he did so, he glanced back at his phone; he prayed that Waylon wouldn’t wake up within the time he was gone, but if he did, he supposed his missing cell phone may indicate that he’d taken it somewhere and that he could call anytime.

Hopefully it didn’t come to that. He didn’t want to scare him.

He gave the driver directions, reclining against the backseat as the they took off down the street. Eddie sighed, feeling his eyes begin to droop; as much as he would’ve loved to go back to their hotel room, kick off all of his clothes, crawl back into bed and scoop Waylon into his arms, it was now or never. He couldn’t take Waylon with him.

He didn’t know, nor would he ever.

The ride was slow and tedious. Somewhere along the way it started to rain before turning into a soft drizzle. Then it stopped altogether, and Eddie was suddenly glad he wouldn’t have to do it in the rain.

“Is this the place?”

Eddie glanced out the window to see the ruins laid out ahead of him. He sighed, telling the driver he wouldn’t be long and he’d pay him for the extended services once he was back at the hotel. The man grunted, putting the car into park as soon as Eddie climbed out.

Of course, no one was around in the middle of the night. Not even the faintest of whispers echoed near the rubble of the temple. It was the ideal setting; he’d come to do one thing, then he’d leave.

He pushed past the rubble to the center of the debris, maneuvering himself down into a semi-sitting position since he couldn’t stay upright on his one knee. He was out of visibility by now, so he didn’t have to worry about the taxi driver snooping in on what he had to say at the temple of Aphrodite.

After a moment of glancing around, checking to make sure no one else was there, Eddie closed his eyes. “Uh… hi.”

Silence.

“I know you were expecting me at some point,” Eddie continued, running a hand through his hair. “I guess I should be thanking you for not making the curse… _permanent.”_

Silence.

“I still don’t understand why an answer to a simple question pissed you off so much…”

A slight breeze kicked up around him.

Eddie chuckled. “But I guess Gods work in mysterious ways, huh?”

The wind stopped.

“Thank you, for ending this,” he whispered, placing a hand down onto what was left of the floor. “I am eternally grateful.”

There wasn’t any response. Eddie didn’t expect one. He sighed, picking up his crutches before pushing them under his armpits and starting back towards the cab.

...It was over.

Almost as a second thought, Eddie paused just outside of the ruins, “Oh, I almost forgot,” he grinned, throwing a middle finger up at the temple. “Fuck you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Thank you all so much for reading.
> 
> This is the final series in my series of 'The Original Three'; Jailbirds, Ghosting, and Into the Night. I've always found it funny that I came up with the ideas for these stories with Into the Night first, Ghosting second, and Jailbirds third, but wrote them in the complete opposite order. Into the Night is so old, it's been in the back of my mind since 2015, and was actually a _Red vs. Blue_ fan fic idea before I converted it to _Outlast._
> 
> This isn't my last longfic, however it will be for a while. I'm already planning two other fics.
> 
> Thank you for all of the support :)
> 
> [Playlist](http://peachycans.tumblr.com/post/163063320493/into-the-night-here-breath-of-life-florence-and/).

**Author's Note:**

> For updates/notifications/art on Into the Night, visit [here](http://peachycans.tumblr.com/tagged/into-the-night/).


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